The Road is Rough
by Kyriebess
Summary: Sam is sick. Dean is overwhelmed. The ghost is evil. The brothers are going to have to work together to ensure each other's survival and end the ghost. Angst and banter throughout...COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: The Road

This is my first fic and the first time I'm using Hopefully I'm doing this right...well, I guess if your reading this it worked. Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy...

Disclaimer: I, quite obviously, do not own Sam nor Dean. All other characters and the plot is mine.

Dean readjusted his hands on the steering wheel as he reclined in his seat. He had been driving down the deserted highway for five hours. He honestly didn't think he had ever been more bored in his life. It wasn't bad enough that his main entertainment, Sam, was completely asleep, but because he was asleep, Dean couldn't even properly listen to the radio. What's the point of hard rock if it's not played loudly enough to feel the bass?

Dean sighed and put his hand out the window. He didn't even know where they were headed, just so long as it was far away from that damn motel room where he and Sam had spent their last week. One week trapped in a stuffy motel room was enough to make anyone crazy. If he had to look at the paisley, puke green bedspread, wallpaper, and carpet one more time he was going to throw up…again. That's what started it, the nauseous feeling that had come upon him last Tuesday night. After spending a night praying to the porcelain god, Dean had awakened the next morning to find Sam hovering over him with a hand on his head. That was unusual in itself, someone getting close enough to him in his sleep to actually touch him, but the amount of pain he was feeling made it clear that he was sick. Sam had later declared it "the flu" and forced ibuprofen and water upon his brother with no small amount of satisfaction. That was how it went for the next three days, Dean drifting in and out of pain and sleep with Sam intermittently force feeding him. It was on the fourth day when Dean awoke at noon presumably shortly after his fever had finally broke that he noticed Sam still in bed. Although the room was disgustingly warm, Sam was shivering and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he had also caught the flu. The roles now reversed, Dean attempted to care for Sam as best he could while recovering himself. Still, three days into Sam's flu experience, Dean was fully recovered and going stir crazy. It wasn't an hour after Sam's fever finally broke that Dean suggested getting back on the road. Dean laughed as he remembered the look on Sam's face…

"You can't be serious."

"Oh come on Sam. I've been waiting patiently for three days for you to lose the fever. I've cared for you, brought you food, catered to your every need, and have I complained once? No."

Sam sat on his bed, mouth agape. "Excuse me, but who was it who did all those things for you when you were sick."

Dean smirked, "Right, but you were healthy when you did your share, I was still sick. But I put my sickness aside to take care of your ass. You owe me."

The dumbfounded expression had never left Sam's face. He shook his head, "You can't be serious."

"You're getting senile Sam, you already said that." Knowing that he won the argument Dean began packing.

Sam laid back on his bed and groaned. "Dean, couldn't you wait just one more day. I still feel like crap man."

Sam jumped as Dean patted his leg. "Relax Sam you can sleep in the car just as well as you can sleep here."

Sam propped himself up on one elbow, mouth still agape, "No I can't. I can't lay down in the car. And you'll be blasting the music."

Dean looked at Sam as though he had just said something ridiculous, "I'm not going to blast the music, dude, you're sick. You need your rest. Now get your ass moving I've already packed your stuff."

Sam laid back down again and throwing his arm over his eyes, he groaned again. "Where are we even going?"

"Don't know, don't care. So long as it's far away from this dump. If I have to look at the puke green colored bedspread, wallpaper, and carpet one more minute, I'll blow my brains out."

And it was with that sentiment in mind that they headed out on the road. Now it was five hours later and Dean was unbelievably bored. Still, anything was better than that damn motel room.

Dean felt the wind rush through his fingers pushing his hand back as he drove down Route 20 of Central Wyoming. He viewed the brown and gold hills as he zoomed past wondering absently if there were any towns along this road. Since getting on the road he had only spotted four cars and one town. If there were no towns on the road, then there would be no motels on the road. Normally that would be fine, but Sam need a bed for the night, which meant a motel was needed. Still, he had another 4 hours or so before sunset, which left plenty of time to ponder which side road would lead to a…"What the Hell?"

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the eight year old girl standing barefoot on the other side of the road. He slammed on the brakes and cringed as he saw Sam fall into his seatbelt and the dashboard. With the car now stopped Dean quickly looked in his side mirror to find…no girl. As Dean was turned around in his seat looking for the nonexistent child he heard Sam moan. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Sorry Sam. I just saw a little girl on the other side of the road."

Sam rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder where the seatbelt had held him in place. "Where are we?"

"The middle of nowhere. Hence, the abrupt stop."

Sam turned around to look out the back window. "I don't see anyone…did you say hence?"

Dean nodded, unbuckled his seat belt, and threw the car into park. "I'm going to go check it out."

Sam rubbed his eyes and groaned. "You think it's a spirit?"

"Well, I think there was a little girl barefoot, standing in the road, in the middle of nowhere who magically disappeared. So, yeah, I'm guessing a spirit." Dean expected some comeback from Sam regarding possible hallucinations and boredom, but it seemed that Sam was not up to par just yet.

"Just find the nearest motel. I'll be better in two days and we can hunt this thing."

"Sam. First, there is no nearest motel…middle of nowhere, remember? Second, it's the ghost of an eight year old girl…I think I can handle it. Third…"

"You don't know that. The girl could be a trap or a shape shifter or a small demon or a sprite…"

"Whatever it is, I'll deal."

Sam was leaned back in his seat with his eyes screwed shut. He was becoming annoyed. "Dean! We need to do research and know what we're fighting before we go up against this thing. A lot of shit has been happening lately and this could be a trap. Just wait two days. I'm sure this spirit- or whatever has been around for a while, two days isn't going to make any difference."

Dean sighed. It was no use arguing with Sam when he was sick. He moved to get out of the car. Sam opened his eyes and went to protest but Dean cut him off. "I'm just going to look for sulfur traces and do an EMF reading. Don't get your panties in a twist."

Sam leaned back and closed his eyes again. Dean continued talking while searching the backseat for his makeshift EMF scanner. "I'm not going to spend anytime anywhere near this area if there was never any girl there."

That comment got a raised eyebrow 'you doubt your own sanity?' look from Sam. Dean ignored the look, "just go back to sleep, I'll be back in a minute."

With that Dean left the car and scanned the area where he had seen the girl. Sure enough the EMF scanner gave off some readings and there were clearly traces of sulfur left where the girl had been standing. "I knew I wasn't crazy."

Dean stood up and stretched. Chances were that it really was just the ghost of some little girl that had been killed on the highway. All he had to do was find the bones or resolve the girl's unresolved issue. Dean looked over at the Impala; Sam had clearly fallen back asleep. Dean smiled and began checking the side of the road for the girl's bones. If he could find them, salt them, and burn them, then he wouldn't have to stay in the middle of nowhere and Sam wouldn't have a chance to argue about it. He looked up as he heard the sound of a car coming from the opposite direction that he had been driving. Dean moved further off to the side of the road as he searched for skeletal evidence. Looking up again, he saw that the car was now much closer although it seemed somewhat blurry. Blurry? Dean's brain seemed to process the visual information in slow motion. At first he thought it was an illusion caused by the heat on the pavement, but then he realized with a start that the blur was the girl rematerializing in front of the car. He watched as the driver of the car took in the sight of the girl almost at the same time as he did. Dean's breath became stuck in his chest as disbelief and denial trembled through his body. The other driver turned the wheel hard to the left to avoid hitting the girl. Dean still hadn't breathed as he watched the terrified look on the driver's face as he slammed on the breaks before crashing head on into the Impala. He heard the break's squeal, the metal crunch, and the glass break. His heart beat wildly in his chest and he squeezed his eyes tight as much to miss watching the horror of the crash as to pretend to himself that if he didn't see it, it didn't happen. But when he opened his eyes, it had happened. The Impala sat almost directly in front of him having been pushed backward about 20 feet by the other car. The windshield was gone, the front bumper was no longer attached, and the hood was dented and pushed into the interior of the car. The other car had steam coming out from under the folded hood. The two airbags had gone off and the interior of the car was filled with white smoke. Dean took in the scene as he ran to the driver side window, which apparently was also missing.

"Sammy!" Sam laid unmoving, facing the other door; a light splattering of blood covered his clothes. Dean pulled on the door, but it was stuck. Realizing that he couldn't reach Sam from the driver's side, Dean ran to the passenger's side and yanked open the door. Thankfully it had not been wedged shut in the crash. Dean was even more thankful to realize that Sam's eyes were open and he was still wearing his seatbelt. Dots of blood covered his face, but upon visual inspection, Dean couldn't find any objects sticking out of his brother and there was no pool of blood anywhere- both good things.

Dean crouched down and grabbed both sides of his brother's face forcing Sam to look at him. "Sammy?" Sam blinked and looked up at Dean. His eyes were glassy and he had a confused, terrified look about him. Dean supposed that waking up as a car is crashing into you is enough to confuse and terrify anyone. Hell, he was terrified and he had been wide-awake for the whole thing.

"Sammy talk to me." Dean's voice had a pleading tone and Sam knew he was worried. If only his lungs would work. Sam took a deep breath and let it out. He closed his eyes and reminded himself not to tear up- that wouldn't help. He needed to let Dean know, "I'm okay."

Dean took his hands off of his brother but looked unconvinced- and panicked. Sam took another breath and felt the tears hit his eyes despite his willing them back in- at least they didn't fall. He looked at Dean again, "I'm just a little shook up." He took another deep breath, willing himself to calm. "What happened?"

"Little ghost girl thought it'd be cute to make a car go off the road. Unfortunately you were in the way." Dean let himself be sarcastic in the hope it would help calm Sam. He saw the panic and the tears and figured Sam's look wasn't far from his own. As Sam leaned back in the seat, clearly trying to calm himself, Dean looked at the other car. Both passenger and driver (a man and a woman) were standing on the driver's side of the car looking dazed. Neither seemed seriously injured. The man noticed Dean looking at him.

"What the hell was that girl doing in the road? Where is she? Is she yours? What the hell were you doing parked in the middle of nowhere with your daughter running around on a highway!"

Dean took a breath, "Dude! Chill. The girl isn't mine. I stopped the car because I saw her in the road and thought she might need help. I was looking for her when you almost hit her." It was pretty much the truth- for the most part.

The woman, still shaking from the accident, looked around. "I don't see her anywhere. Oh God, did we hit her!"

Dean shook his head. "If you'd hit her there'd be a body." The couple cringed and Dean moved on to explain. "She probably got scared by the crash and ran off. My guess is she lives somewhere around here."

Just then Dean felt Sam grab his arm hard. He looked down to find Sam sweating and looking up at him. "Dean." Dean could tell by the way Sam said his name that they needed a hospital. The woman must have heard it too, "Is he alright? We should call an ambulance."

Her male counterpart agreed before adding, "and the police; they need to know about the girl." He quickly called 911. Dean was glad for it because the man seemed to have a better idea of where in Wyoming they were than Dean did.

Dean nodded at the couple and crouched down to Sam. "What's wrong?"

Sam closed his eyes and a tear spilled out. He opened his eyes again and looked at Dean. He wanted to say a lot of things, ask where the dots of blood were coming from, tell Dean that he felt really achy, that he thought his fever had come back, that he wanted to throw up, lie down, see a doctor, and then apologize to Dean for dragging a doctor into this and making things complicated. However, the nauseous feeling and the residual panic from the accident seemed to make it impossible to say anything. Still, he needed Dean's help and he'd have to communicate that somehow. So he squeezed harder on Dean's arm and stared at him.

"Sammy." Dean put his free hand on the side of Sam's head. He was going to say 'tell me what's wrong' but he realized that he had already asked that and clearly Sam couldn't answer. Dean slid his hand to Sam's forehead and felt the heat. "Your fever's back."

Clearly that's what Sam had been trying to communicate because in response to that comment, Sam dropped Dean's arm, sagged back into the seat and closed his eyes. He really wanted to throw up.

The couple announced that an ambulance and the police would be arriving within the next 5 min. Dean wondered how that was possible given their 'middle of nowhere' location as he realized that Sam was still buckled in. He unbuckled Sam, put his arms under Sam's armpits and pulled him up and out of the car. Sam leaned against Dean with his head against Dean's chest. He found it odd that he was less nauseous standing up then he was sitting down, but then attributed the lack of nausea in some way to Dean holding him up. It was short lived though as Dean laid him back on the ground. Sam heard the sirens coming and opened his eyes to reassure Dean, "I'm feeling better."

Dean still had one hand on Sam but was looking towards the police cars, "When the ambulance comes, you're going to the hospital."

Sam didn't argue.


	2. Chapter 2: The Impala

_Hey Folks! I was so excited to see how many reviews I got! Thank you all so much! I'm going to do my best to please, and I hope you all will continue to read and enjoy... _

_And now, on to Chapter 2..._

_Also! Before I forget, I have a Warning: This chapter and the chapters that will follow contain some not so nice language. However, there are no curse words used in this story that have not been used on the show.  
  
_

** Chapter 2: The Impala**

Sam had been laying on the stretcher in the hospital ER for at least an hour now. Two IV bags were pumping fluids and antibiotics into his arm while he waited for a doctor to get back to him. What they were doing, he didn't really know. It was clear that he had no broken bones and he knew that he hadn't hit his head, so it was unclear to Sam why he was still here. He felt considerably better than he had directly after the accident. He guessed that his recent illness and the shock of the accident had combined into an overwhelming sense of panic. Now that things were calm, Sam could honestly say that he felt a little ashamed about how shook up he had been. In addition to his self-analysis, Sam noticed that Dean had been acting a bit off as well. He briefly considered that the accident had caused Dean to relapse as well, but Dean didn't seem sick. He just seemed…off.

Dean was standing next to the stretcher by Sam's head constantly fidgeting. He was acting like a hyperactive dog tied to an extremely short leash. He didn't look at Sam but was staring off down the hallway in the direction of the nurses' station. Every now and then he would grumble something, begin to pace, and then quickly resume his position at Sam's side.

"Dean why don't you find out what they're waiting for?"

Dean jumped, obviously startled. "What?"

"Are you okay?" Startling Dean wasn't not an easy feat and Sam was becoming increasingly concerned. "Dean, I never asked, were you in the accident? Did you get hurt?"

"What?" Dean had a decidedly confused look about him. "Dude you were the one in the car not me. I got to watch remember."

Ok, so that was part of it. Dean was obviously disturbed by watching the accident, although that didn't make much sense to Sam either. Dean had seen him hurt far worse before and wasn't nearly as traumatized. Then it hit him…the Impala! Of course! That was why Dean was so off. His car, scratch that- his pride and joy, had been damaged. Sam felt a little less concerned. Dean wasn't as off as he had thought. Being overly concerned and upset about his car was typical Dean. Hell he had once threatened to kill Sam just because some coffee dripped onto the seat. Luckily for Sam, the coffee hadn't left a stain. His memories were interrupted by the doctor walking towards them.

"Well Mr. Carlyle, your blood work indicates an elevated white blood cell count, but that would be accounted for by the virus your brother told us about. Do you have any pain anywhere?"

Sam shook his head, "No. Honestly I feel much better. I think I was just a little freaked out by the whole thing."

The doctor nodded in understanding. "You had a lot of cuts and abrasions from the windshield breaking on you. It's a good thing that you kept your seatbelt on though. Otherwise I would be having a whole different conversation and it would most likely be with your brother and not you."

Sam nodded as he watched Dean flinch. "So I can go?"

"Well, normally we like to keep accident victims overnight, especially considering your elevated blood count…"

Dean interrupted, "He'll stay." Sam's head flew around as he stared at his brother. He must be possessed. That was the only possible explanation for Dean wanting him to stay. Something must have happened while Sam had been sleeping and now his brother was possessed.

The doctor appeared startled as well, "Uhh, Mr. Carlyle, I was saying that we normally keep accident victims overnight, and your brother has an elevated blood count, but the blood count is easily explained by his recent virus, and his blood pressure, coherency, reflexes, all look good. I was going to release him, with the understanding that he should rest and take it easy for a few days."

Sam continued watching Dean, racking his brain as to how to exorcise his brother. Dean appeared surprised at the doctor's words and a bit embarrassed that he had blurted out that Sam should stay. "So he's okay then?"

The wary doctor nodded, "Other than the flu and the few cuts and scrapes. Yes, I'd consider this one of those accidents where everybody gets to walk away." The doctor smiled, "My favorite kind."

Dean spoke up as the doctor turned to walk away, "So this happens a lot? I mean, accidents on Rt. 20? Do cars normally go off the road around there?"

The doctor shook his head. "No not really. In fact I think this is the first car accident we've had off of Rt. 20. To be honest, not all that many people drive that road." The doctor smiled again. "Then again not all that many people live in this area, so we don't get too many car accidents period. Kind of in the middle of nowhere."

Dean seemed confused, "But there's a hospital. Why would they put?"

The doctor cut him off. "This is a central location for a number of small towns. Overall enough people to warrant a hospital. If someone needs extended treatment, they usually go elsewhere, but we're good at saving lives and dealing with more sudden onset conditions. I'll send the nurse by with the paperwork and you can be on your way." Then to Sam he added, "Feel better Mr. Carlyle."

After the doctor left, Sam immediately turned to Dean. "Christo."

Clearly offended, Dean looked at him as though he had 7 heads, but didn't flinch. "Dude! Do I seem possessed to you?"

"You really want me to answer that? What was with the 'he'll stay' crap?"

Dean scowled and muttered something about finding the nurse and getting the hell out of here. Sam dropped his head back on the stretcher. If it wasn't possession, then it was back to explanation number two: the Impala.

Sam watched as Dean thanked the ambulance driver for the ride to the motel. He shook his head as he pondered the fact that an ambulance was serving the same purpose as a taxi- you gotta love small towns. As Dean was coming out of the motel's main office with a key, Sam realized that their bags weren't with them. Now that he thought about it, what happened to all the weapons in the trunk! "Dean!"

Dean stopped walking as Sam ran over to him. "Should you even be running? You're still sick."

Sam shook his head, "Where's our stuff? Where are the weapons?"

"They're in the Impala. Where do you think?"

"Dean, when the police go through it they're gonna think we're deranged terrorists."

Dean looked at Sam as though he were crazy, "Dude. Relax. The police don't have the car, we do. I had it towed to this motel. No one's touching that car unless I'm there to supervise."

Sam blew out the air from his lungs and relaxed. He followed Dean into the motel room and then walked into his brother as Dean stopped short, said "Oh hell no," and marched out of the room. Despite the crappy day, Sam couldn't help but laugh. Their new motel room had the same bedspread and wallpaper as their former motel room- the room Dean had threatened to blow his brains out in earlier this morning.

Sam stopped laughing as he ran to catch up with Dean outside. "Dean!" Dean continued walking. "Dean!" Dean picked up his pace. The flu still had Sam at less than 100 and he was becoming winded chasing after his brother. Finally Sam stopped to catch his breath, "Dean! Wait a second!"

Dean turned around and walked back to where Sam was standing. "No way man! No way am I staying in that room. I told you this morning."

Sam tried to be reasonable. "Dean, this is a very basic motel. I doubt any of the other rooms have a different décor."

"Right, which is why we'll be going to another motel."

"What! You can't be serious!" Sam found himself staring with his mouth open for at least the fourth time today.

"I'll tell you what I'm serious about Sam. I'm not staying in that room. This whole trip started because I wasn't going to look at that damn puke green bedspread one more minute and damn it! I'm not gonna look at that damn puke green bedspread one more minute!" Dean turned to walk away again.

Sam, still leaning against the wall evaluated his current situation. His head was beginning to pound and his muscles beginning to ache; evidence that the pain medication given to him in the hospital was beginning to wear off. The Impala was damaged and since Dean had it towed, it was presumably not drivable. Dean was still acting, for lack of a better word, odd and although possession had been ruled out, Sam was still concerned. It was clear to Sam that in order to get Dean back to his normal self, the Impala would need to be fixed ASAP, which meant that they should be spending their time looking for an auto shop, not another motel. In addition, at this point, the day was catching up to him and all Sam wanted to do was sleep. Therefore, they needed to stay in that room. The question now was how to stop Dean. Reasoning clearly didn't work and Dean seemed hell bent on not staying in the room. There was only one possible way for Sam to stop a hell bent Dean but he hesitated before doing it. Dean had had a difficult day as well, and making Dean stay in the room would only add to his annoyance. The pounding increased in Sam's brain and he realized that he really did need to lie down. So with a silent apology to his brother, he pulled out his last resort.

Sam ran up to Dean and tapped his shoulder. Dean turned and Sam leaned back against the motel wall catching his breath. "Dean. Look, I know you hate that room."

Dean interrupted warning him, "Sam"

Sam interrupted again, this was it…"Dean, I'm sorry. I need to lie down; I really don't feel well. Please. I know you don't want to stay there…" Sam knew they were staying. He saw the change in Dean's face go from stubborn to big brother the second Sam mentioned needing to lie down. He didn't even let Sam finish. He simply grabbed his arm and pulled Sam towards the room. Sam began to feel guilty for pulling the little brother distress card, although it wasn't a total manipulative lie. He really did feel sick. Still, he felt bad, "Why don't you flip the bedspreads over? Then you won't have to look at them."

Dean didn't comment but continued dragging Sam. Once they were back in the room Dean effectively pushed Sam onto a bed and ordered him to sleep. As Sam was removing his shoes he looked over to find Dean with his back to him. Dean's head was down and he was running his hands though his hair. Then he sighed and looked up. "Are you ok?"

Dean turned looking startled by the question. Then he became annoyed. "I hate this room Sam."

Sam sighed, feeling increasingly guilty. "Look if it bothers you that much…you said the Impala was here. I'll go rest in the car while you find us another…"

"No!" Sam jumped back at the sudden intensity of his brother's interruption. Looking up Sam saw Dean had tears in his eyes. None of this made any sense. He wished Dean would tell him what was bothering him, as it was emotional, raw Dean scared Sam for reasons that he couldn't seem to explain.

When Sam looked back up Dean was in front of him pushing him down again. "Just sleep here. I'll deal with the room. Hey man, like you said, I can flip the bedspreads over…Just sleep here. Please…I'm going to get the stuff from the car so I can take her to a mechanic." And with that Dean was gone. Had it not been for the pounding in his head, which made it impossibly hard to think, Sam might have been able to determine why Dean was so jumpy and emotional. The car couldn't possibly account for all of Dean's unusual behavior. Then Sam thought that perhaps the car had been damaged beyond repair. Unfortunately the flu was taking away Sam's ability to think, so he simply closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Dean walked around the motel until he found the corner of the lot where the Impala had been parked. He stood about 10 feet away from the car staring at it; willing himself not to feel so overwhelmed. Wanting to avoid the entire front of the car where all of the damage had occurred and where Sam's blood was staining the upholstery, Dean went directly to the trunk. Opening the trunk, he contemplated the best way to get the weapons from the trunk and into the motel room. The motel room…Dean shuddered. It wasn't the motel room itself that he hated; it was what the room represented. It mocked him, reminding him that throughout today he accomplished nothing because he seemed to have ended up right back where he started. To make it worse, Sam had gotten hurt and the Impala had been smashed for no reason. At least if they were in a better motel room, he could tell himself that some good came out of his stubbornness today. Not that Sam and the Impala were worth sacrificing for a motel room, but now they had both been injured and he had nothing.

Dean's hands shook as his emotions threatened to take over. There was a moment today, when the car smashed into the Impala and Dean truly believed that Sam was gone. Time had frozen around that moment and although time had sped back up again and moved on, Dean still felt as though he was stuck in that moment. He had to keep telling himself that Sam was fine, and not even that much worse off than he was yesterday. All he had gained from the crash were a few cuts and scrapes. But Dean was still stuck, watching the crash, seeing Sam from the driver's side not moving, and holding Sam's face as he looked at Dean in a panic. This couldn't happen again. He needed to find a way to prevent this. Learn from the mistake and move on. One thought clearly rang through his head. He should have listened to Sam. Two times today Sam had asked him to wait before moving. Sam asked him to wait before getting back on the road and wait before checking out the ghost. If he had listened to Sam on either occasion, there would never have been an accident. Dean sighed and stared at a bowie knife. He needed to listen more to Sam. He almost did it again when he tried to find another motel; at least this time though, he managed to step down and let Sam take the lead. He'd have to do more of that. From now on, Sam would take more of a lead.

Dean tried to ignore the guilt that seemed to be eating him alive as he brought the rest of their possessions into the motel room. Sam slept through it all, including when Dean had dropped all of the cast iron crosses on the floor. The hardest part had been getting the gun from the glove compartment but Dean managed to retrieve the gun without hyperventilating, which he considered a plus. To get his mind off of the guilt and anguish that seemed to surround him, he decided to focus on anger. The evil little ghost girl was going down!

Dean paced the room as he tried to figure out where to begin. All of Dean's instincts were telling him to go back to Rt. 20, find the girl and blow her head off with rock salt just to make himself feel better. Dean shook his head as he considered the impossibility of that solution. One, it would mean leaving a sick Sam alone and that was out of the question- not after what happened today. Two, it would be far more productive to find where the girl was buried and burn her ass. With that in mind Dean grabbed Sam's laptop and began searching for any deaths along Rt. 20.

center /center

Sam awoke to the sound of the water running in the bathroom. He turned to the alarm clock to find that it was 7 am. Looking around, he noticed that the curtains were still shut- Dean had not intended to wake him. Sam began laughing as he realized that both bedspreads had been flipped over.

"Feeling better I see. What's got you in such a happy mood this morning?" Sam jumped at the sound of his brother's voice.

Dean walked out of the bathroom showered, changed, and ready to go. He walked over to Sam and felt his head. "No fever. How do you feel?"

"Much better." Sam smiled. "See, I said I'd be better in a day." He meant it as a joke, just to tease Dean, but Dean's reaction wasn't funny. He seemed genuinely upset by Sam's comment but before Sam could question it Dean announced, "I'm going to get breakfast for us. If you're feeling better later, I need to take the car over to the mechanic."

Sam started, "You didn't do that yet? I thought that would have been the first thing you did."

Dean turned annoyed, "No Sam. The first thing I did was go with you to the hospital. Between that and moving all our crap out of the car yesterday, I didn't really get a chance to go find a mechanic." And then Dean was gone.

As Sam showered and changed, he considered Dean's erratic behavior. He had determined yesterday that Dean was upset about the condition of the car. Based on Dean's most recent outburst, he figured that Dean was also annoyed that because Sam went to the hospital, it would take even longer to fix the car. Sam didn't blame him for that. Looking back on it, he really hadn't needed to go to the hospital yesterday. Once again Sam found himself feeling ashamed of his easily onset panic.

A short while later the brothers stood in the garage of the mechanic's shop where the Impala sat waiting to be fixed. As Dean spoke with the mechanic, Sam took in the sight of the car. He was shocked at how bad it was. He tuned into Dean's conversation in time to hear the mechanic say, "I'd say it'd take about 2 weeks to order her a grill. The bumper might take a while too. I could probably cut the glass for ya and git that in the next couple days, but the other parts are gonna take awhile."

Sam cringed. Two weeks in this small town, in that motel room, Dean was going to have a fit. "Don't worry about the grill and the bumper, I'll call ahead and pick them up in Denver; I just need the car to run. The engine's ok?" Dean was much calmer than expected.

The mechanic nodded, "Sher. Engine's jest fine, transmission too. That car's made of good metal. She worked real hard to protect what was inside 'er. It's jest mostly the outside and some of the valves that er busted up."

Dean sighed and patted his car, silently agreeing with the mechanic and thanking her for protecting what was inside of her, although Dean wasn't referring to the engine. "Let's go Sam."

Sam trailed after his brother. "So when will the car be fixed?"

Dean answered with resignation, "The mechanic won't get to it for a few days. I told him to fix the Cirellis' car first." A quick headshake from Sam and Dean explained, "The Cirellis are the couple that ran into you. I figured between you being sick and us needing to end that bitch of a ghost, we won't be needing her for while anyway."

Sam stopped walking and Dean, in turn, stopped and faced him, "Dean. What the hell is going on with you? Since when do you not care if the grill matches the car? Since when do you not care when the Impala gets fixed?"

"I didn't say I don't care Sam! I explained that we needed to be here anyway."

Sam cut him off, "You don't want to be here! Just yesterday you were threatening to kill yourself over a bedspread and now you want to move in?"

"Enough Sam! Drop it." Fists clenched, Dean resumed walking. Sam stood and watched him storm off. His anxiety grew as he realized that he truly had no idea what was bothering Dean. His damaged car theory was clearly a bust and Dean seemed to be growing more and more agitated with every second. He could see that Dean was spiraling out of control and he had no idea how to stop it. Sam was beginning to feel out of control himself. He knew that he had been sick, and still wasn't fully recovered, but he felt as though he had missed something big during his recent incoherency. For the first time in a very long time, Sam was genuinely worried about the hunt. He was sick and Dean wasn't himself. The girl may only be eight years old, but a ghost was a ghost and Sam knew from experience not to underestimate anything. He just felt completely lost, like there was no one to lead the hunt and that thought scared him.

"Are you coming or what?" Dean was undoubtedly still annoyed.

"Where are you going?"

"_We_ are going to the library to figure out who this ghost is so that we can burn her sorry ass. I checked out the internet last night and nada- so it's off to the local records." Dean turned and resumed walking.

Sam sighed and tried to push away his ever-growing anxiety. After a beat, he ran to catch up with his brother.


	3. Chapter 3: Out of Control

_Hey all! Thank you everyone again for the reviews! You totally make my day!  
Black Roses: keep reading, you'll like...  
_

_This chapter has lots of action, so hang on for the ride! And the next chapter, well...let's just say it gets even better, but I'll let you all decide for yourselves..._

_ Seriously though, I hope you all enjoy this chapter._  
**  
Chapter 3: Out of Control**

Dean marched into the library with Sam trotting behind. The librarian, an elderly woman with a kind look, was the only one in the library at the time. Dean approached the woman and leaning on her desk, smiled his most charming grin. "Excuse me ma'am. I was wondering if you could help us."

The librarian smiled, "Of course dear, that's why I'm here. Now what did you boys need help with?"

Dean responded, "We were wondering if you had any local newspapers from the past few years."

"Dean," Sam whispered, "we don't know how long ago it happened. She could be over a century old." Dean appeared annoyed by Sam's interruption, but said nothing.

The librarian looked at Sam, "How's that? We don't really have any local papers in this library. For that sort of thing, you'd have to head over to one of the larger libraries. The nearest one's in a town only about 50 miles down Rt. 20..."

"No." Both Sam and the librarian jumped at Dean's interruption. Dean took a breath and explained, "I'm sorry, we don't really have a car right now."

The librarian nodded in understanding. "You must be those two boys who were in that accident on Rt. 20 yesterday. Sheriff Crell told me all about it. He was a might worried about you though," she looked over at Sam.

"I'm fine ma'am." Sam replied.

The librarian continued, "Thank the Lord for that." She patted Dean's hand, "and don't you worry none, Ben's a great mechanic. He'll have that car of yours workin' in no time." She sighed as she looked up at Dean. "The sheriff told me that you and those other folks saw Jillian Maida out on the road." She shook her head, "It's a real shame, that girl can't find her peace with the Lord. Folks round here've been seein' her on that road since the day she died. I keep on prayin' for her, hopin' the Lord will see fit to end her sufferin'."

The two brothers looked at each other. Now they had the name for their ghost. Sam spoke up, "How'd she die ma'am?"

The librarian took a deep breath and sat down. "Well let's see now. It must have been about 15 years ago now." She looked up at the brother's, a sad look in her eye, "The Maida's owned a ranch on the other side of the highway. They always seemed a little strange; never liked to get too close to people. Nice folks, but they mostly kept to themselves. Maisy, Jillian's momma, she'd always take the kids to church. They were good church goin' people, though Harry, Jillian's daddy, he never came. Jillian was their third child." The librarian paused looking uncomfortable. Then she cleared her throat and continued, "There were five all together, two girls and three boys. Haley, Jillian's sister had up an' ran off with some rodeo man the year before. The whole thing was strange, but then that family was strange."

Dean checked himself, his patience was wearing thin. He wanted to shake the old lady and scream, 'get to the part where the girl dies!' but in the interest of obtaining any information, he kept quite and listened to the woman continue with the story.

"Anyway, Jillian was about twelve years old." She looked over at Dean, "I know hun' she looked a lot younger then she was. Well, anyhow, the whole town knew about her sleepwalkin'. Her family tried to hush it up, I suppose they were ashamed, but there wasn't nothin' to be ashamed of. She was just a little girl."

Patience Dean…

"Well, one night Jillian must have sleepwalked right out of her house and off her daddy's land. Nobody really knows what happened. Maisy couldn't find her the next day and called the sheriff. Sheriff Crell found her a few hours later. The poor girl'd been dead some time. She was lyin' on the side of the road. Sheriff figured she'd been hit by a car or a truck. He didn't even know if it'd been a hit and run or if the driver just thought he'd hit an animal. It was such a horrible tragedy…The Maida's left town after that; sold their land an' everything. They never even said a word to anyone 'bout it." The librarian looked Sam in the eye, "You know, the sheriff said that the doc told him that Jillian hadn't died right away. Can you imagine? Wakin' up by bein' hit by a car?"

Sam tensed; he didn't need to imagine it. He immediately felt Dean move next to him and touch his arm. Sam had been growing tired as they listened to the librarian's story. He may not have had a fever anymore, but the previous week had taken his toll on him and he didn't have the same energy he had had before he caught the flu. Sam had realized it yesterday, but once again found himself marveled by the fact that a simple illness could bring down his defenses and make him more susceptible to fear and anxiety. He shook his head as he realized that he was also marveled by how much safer he felt when he knew Dean was near. Sam was thrown by the librarian's last comment and then almost immediately relaxed when Dean touched his arm. He wondered if Dean was aware of how strong an impact he had on his brother.

Dean thanked the librarian for her time and then left the library much the same way he had come in, with Sam in tow. His thoughts began running immediately. He wondered if that was why the ghost, Jillian, had caused the accident, because Sam had been asleep. The local doc had said that there hadn't been any accidents in the area, so presumably yesterday's accident had been Jillian's first malevolent attack. Dean found himself growing angry as he realized the girl had chosen to slam Sam with a car because he had been asleep. Causing someone else to relive your own last moments of terror- that was a typical ghost m.o. But this little bitch, 12 years old or otherwise, had chosen a defenseless Sam to relive her last moments. And if regular Sammy was Dean's responsibility to protect…defenseless Sammy should have caused Dean to go into hyper vigilant full on bodyguard mode. But instead, because of his own arrogance, Dean had left Sam alone in the car.

"Iahh!" Dean kicked a rock 30 feet down the road in frustration.

"Dean?" Dean turned to face Sam. "Do you think Jillian caused the car to swerve into the Impala because I was asleep? You know, so that I could know what she felt?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't really give a rat's ass why that little sleepwalking bitch decided to jump in front of a car. Tonight I'm burning the crap out of what's left of her body."

Sam held up his hands, "Whoa Dean. She was just a little girl. She didn't deserve what happened to her, to die alone on the side of a road. She probably died never even understanding what happened."

"So what do you want to do Sam! You want to just let the girl continue playing chicken with the cars on Rt. 20 because she died a crappy death!"

Sam took a step back, once again trying to figure out what Dean's problem was. "No. All I'm saying is you don't have to curse her out. She's just a kid."

"No. She _was_ just a kid, now she's an evil car-dodging ghost. And she's going down tonight." With that, Dean turned and resumed walking. Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was too tired to argue. He needed to rest and then figure out what was going on with Dean. Sam's ability to think was still a little shaky, but he knew one thing…it would be extraordinarily dangerous for them to go into a hunt like this. Neither one of them seemed to be in control, of himself or the hunt, and that needed to be fixed before they tackled the supernatural. Dean would have to tell him what was wrong, whether he liked it or not. "Come on." Sam jumped as he felt his brother's hand on his back. He looked at Dean confused.

Dean explained, "You look like crap. We're going back to the motel."

Sam sighed, "Dean we need to…"

Dean cut him off with a shake of the head, "You need to take a nap. We can't go grave digging until it's dark anyway. This is a small town. People will notice if we're walking around with shovels."

"A nap? What am I, five?"

Dean smirked, "Sammy quit whining. If you lay down for your nap, I'll let you play with my lock pick set again."

Sam laughed hard. There were at least 3 months when he was five that Dean had said that very same thing to him to get him to take a nap without whining. "Man I used to love playing with that lock pick set."

Dean smirked again, "Of course you did. Because you wanted to be just like your incredibly talented and good looking older brother."

Sam shook his head, "Actually I was hoping that if I got good enough at picking locks, I could break into that lock box where you kept your candy."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't have."

Sam laughed again before walking towards the motel, "Didn't you ever wonder why every time you bought Swedish Fish they were magically gone the next day?"

Dean stared at Sam in astonishment, "That was you? I just figured my lockbox had a candy hungry spirit living inside of it." He shook his head, "No wonder you were such a fat kid."

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Sam awoke to find Dean flipping the channels on the TV. Once again, Dean's behavior unnerved him. Normally, Dean would have gone out to find the grave, gathered all the stuff they would need, and then woken Sam up. Watching TV was nowhere in that repertoire. "Dean, we need to talk."

Dean turned to look at Sam and then turned off the TV. "Good you're awake. I got the stuff together. There's only one cemetery in this town and it's just a few blocks over. All we have to do is find the grave, dig it up, and burn the bitch."

"But you didn't check out the cemetery yet? Do you know where Jillian's grave is?"

"It's a small town Sam, how big could it be?" Dean got off the bed and began to collect the shovels, salt, and gasoline, "Now come on, get your ass up, we're killing darkness here. It's already midnight."

Sam started, "Midnight? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Dean shrugged, "You needed the sleep." He held out a shovel. "You okay to carry this?"

Sam got up, "Dean, we can't go like this. We're going to end up getting ourselves killed."

Dean put down the shovel confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"This Dean." Sam motioned between them with his hands. "I'm not at my best right now and neither are you."

"What the hell are you talking about Sam? I'm fine."

Sam was becoming frustrated, "No, you're not. You haven't been yourself since that accident yesterday. You're short tempered, emotional…"

Dean held his hands up in defense, "Whoa, whoa. I am not emotional."

"Normally, no, you're anything but. But since the accident…first you wanted me to stay in the hospital. Then you wait until the next day to bring the car to a mechanic. THEN you don't care how long it takes to fix the car. Then you're cursing out a twelve year old, and now, right before a hunt you're sitting and watching TV."

Dean became angry. "I was letting you sleep because I figured the more sleep you got, the better you'd be able to watch my back!"

Sam was also growing angry, why couldn't Dean just talk to him? "Why didn't you check out the cemetery while I was sleeping?"

Dean bristled at the underlying accusation that he wasn't doing his job. "What the hell's the difference Sam, whether I checked it out before or we both check it out now!"

Sam sighed and spoke in a calmer tone in an attempt to calm Dean. "There is no difference, but in my entire life, I have never known you to just sit around and watch TV when you could be out doing something related to a hunt. Especially when you consider the room we're in."

Dean knew Sam was right. In fact, for the past 6 hours while Sam slept, Dean wanted to do nothing but get out of their damn puke green paisley covered motel room. But learning from mistakes was something Dean did extremely well and he wasn't about to leave his brother alone and defenseless again. So, in an attempt to add to the ever growing list of sacrifices Dean had made to protect Sam, he had stayed in the nauseating motel room just in case. But he wasn't about to tell Sam that. "Like I said Sam, we're killing darkness. You want to have your heart to heart moment, do it after we waste this ghost." And with that Dean left the room.

Sam sank back down on the bed and put his hands through his hair. This was NOT a good situation. It needed to be resolved BEFORE they tried to 'waste' the ghost. However, from the looks of things, Dean wasn't going to let Sam go there and Sam doubted that even the 'little brother distress card' would help him out on this one. It would have to be up to him to make sure the hunt went smoothly. Despite his recent illness, Sam felt somewhat confident that if he was conscious about it, he could be extra alert and cautious, hopefully making up for Dean's volatility. With his new plan in mind, Sam grabbed a shovel and hurried out after Dean.

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Dean had been right, Jillian's grave was not hard to find. Set in the back corner of the cemetery, the simple plot had been marked by a flat gravestone. Dean and Sam quickly began their dig and Sam felt his energy and his plan slipping away with every shovel full of dirt. It had been easy to assure himself that he could pick up Dean's slack when he had first woken up, but now, two hours into digging out the grave, Sam was being strongly reminded that he was still recovering from the flu. Still, in between shovels of dirt, Sam looked around to make sure neither Jillian, nor any of the town's people were aware of their actions. Finally, the brothers heard the distinct clunk of the coffin.

Sam hopped out of the grave, salt in hand as Dean pried open the coffin. The sight that greeted them caused both brothers jump back. Jillian, the ghost, was lying in the coffin on top of the remains of her body. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep. Sam looked at Dean. Neither of them had seen this before. Sure there had been ghosts that had attacked them when they attempted to get into a grave, but they had never encountered a ghost that was sleeping in their grave.

Dean shrugged and motioned to Sam to pour the salt.

Sam whispered, "What! Are you crazy? Dean, the second the salt touches her she'll feel it and wake up."

Dean reminded himself that he had made a vow to listen to Sam more often. However, in this case, there really didn't seem to be any other alternative. Still, out of respect for his recent vow he asked Sam, "So what's your suggestion then?"

Sam found himself taken aback by Dean's question. He honestly had no idea what else they could do. The bones would need to be salted to properly destroy the ghost. The only true alternative would be to come back at another time, but there was no guarantee that Jillian wouldn't be in her coffin again. In addition, people were going to notice fairly quickly that a grave had been dug up. It would be harder to gain access to the grave a second time. Sam sighed as he realized that there was no alternative. He positioned himself to pour the salt and looked at Dean. Dean had already armed himself with a rock salt loaded shotgun; clearly he was ready.

With a nod from Dean, Sam poured the salt…

And nothing happened. Both brothers once again took a step back and looked at each other. Dean spoke first, "That salt should have temporarily dematerialized her. At the very least she should be rolling around screaming in pain."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's wish for the ghost's pain. "Well, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. Pour the gasoline and let's get this over with."

Dean grabbed the gasoline can and began pouring it into the grave. After the non-reaction to the salt, both brothers had let their guard down. So they were completely unprepared when Jillian screamed and flew up into Dean causing the gas can to spill all over him. Dean coughed and held his eyes shut as he felt the gasoline burning his nostrils. Sam looked around frantically, kicking himself as he noticed that the shotgun was on Dean's side of the grave. So much for his plan of heightened vigilance. Looking around again, Sam realized that Jillian was nowhere to be seen. Sam ran over to Dean and pulled him up; he reeked of gasoline. It was hard for Sam to breathe standing next to him, he couldn't imagine what it was like for Dean. "It's in my eyes Sam."

Terror paralyzed Sam as he processed his brother's comment, but he quickly shook it off. Dean's eyes had to be washed out immediately. He scanned the cemetery and quickly spotted a small well about 20 feet away. The well had most likely been placed there for watering the flowers that decorated the graves. Sam pulled Dean towards the well noticing that Dean's breaths were coming in gasps. He felt tears sting his eyes at the possibility that some of the gas had ended up in Dean's lungs. He desperately hoped that the fumes from the gas were affecting his brother's breathing rather than the other option. Not that fumes were a good scenario either.

At the well, Sam pumped the water and forced Dean's head under it. Dean struggled to breath through the water and the gas fumes. Still pumping the water with his left hand, Sam cupped his palm, filled with water around Dean's right eye. "Blink your right eye."

Dean did as he was told and immediately felt the burning sensation leave his eye. He kneeled down in the now mud and drenched his entire body in the water. Sam was now tending to his left eye. As more of the gas was washed off of him, it became considerably easier to breathe. With his left eye now washed out, and his face fairly gas free, Dean cautiously opened his eyes. His vision was slightly blurry, but given the fact that his eyes no longer burned, he figured that only the fumes had entered his eyes, not the actual gas. Had the gas entered his eyes, he'd probably be blind by now. Sam was crouched right in front of him, his right hand now pumping the water. Based on the look on Sam's face and the tears in his eyes, Dean figured that Sam had come to the conclusion that Dean was blind. Dean stared at Sam's face and mistook Sam's concern and fear for pity. "You better wipe that look off your face Sam."

Startled Sam leaned back confused, then he smiled, "You can see me?"

"Yeah I can see you. It may be a little blurry, but I know pity when I see it."

Sam sighed, Dean's new attitude was beginning to get on his nerves. "It's not pity you moron, it's concern."

Dean huffed and stood up. He still smelled the gasoline, but the scent wasn't nearly as strong as before. "Tell me you lit the bitch."

Sam looked dumbfounded. "You were covered in gasoline, man, I wasn't about to break out the lighter. Besides, your eyes had to be washed out and unless you planned on finding the well with your eyes closed…"

Dean cut him off and began stalking back towards the grave. "Dean! Can you breathe? You were gasping before."

Dean turned to Sam, "I'm fine. It was just the fumes." Then he pulled out a lighter and spoke into the grave. "You want to play bitch. Fine. How about a barbeque."

Before Dean could light the lighter, Sam grabbed it out of his hand and screamed at him, "Have you completely lost your mind! You're covered in gasoline!"

"It's washed off Sam."

Sam had had it. He felt completely out of control. Dean was completely out of control. Dean was now apparently suicidal, or incredibly stupid, or incredibly arrogant and believed he was immortal. Either way, Dean was out of touch with reality. Sam, himself, still wasn't feeling fully recovered. The ghost of a twelve-year-old girl was kicking their asses. Sam felt the tears come back to his eyes and the breath leave his lungs. He was alone. For the first time in a very long time, Sam felt completely alone. He realized with a frightening shock that he felt this way because he had no one to depend on. Throughout his entire life, he had always had someone to depend on or fall back on. First it was dad, then it was Dean, then it was Jess, and then it was back to Dean again. To add to the situation was Dean's current state of insanity, which meant not only could Sam not rely on Dean, but he was now responsible for him. He found the situation crippling and guilt filled him as he realized that Dean had spent the past 22 years in this same situation. All the realizations came at once and Sam was overwhelmed with emotion; it was getting increasingly hard to breathe. But he was the responsible one now and 22 years of watching Dean do this had taught him enough to get through this night. He just had to follow Dean's example. What would Dean do? Sam looked up with determination on his face and Dean spoke up completely unaware of Sam's thoughts, "Sam give me the lighter. That ghost is toast."

Sam didn't respond. He shoved his emotions aside and literally threw his brother away from the grave. Dean landed in a heap and Sam lit the lighter. Before he could drop it however, Jillian flew by grabbing the lighter out of Sam's hand. Sam immediately cursed and grabbed the shotgun. Jillian was flying back towards Dean when Sam shot the rock salt through her head. But instead of disappearing, Jillian just turned and looked at Sam. Figuring that he must have missed, although it didn't look like it, Sam fired again. This time Sam was sure that he saw the shot go through her head and yet she was still there. She tilted her head and looked at him appearing confused. The lighter was still in her hand. Sam looked over and noticed that Dean was still sitting where Sam had thrown him looking more than a little confused himself.

Dean wasn't sure what was going on, but things were definitely out of control. Sam had just thrown him about 10 feet, for no apparent reason and the look in Sam's eyes…Dean had never seen Sam with that look before. It unnerved him. Sam looked, well, psychotically pissed. To add to the situation, his vision was still blurry, his nostrils burned, and little ghost girl seemed to have an immunity to rock salt. Dean found himself desperately wanting to just end this thing and get the hell out of there. Dean racked his brain for a plan and leaned forward as he came up with one. He quickly began crawling towards the girl.

"Dean! What the hell are you doing? Stay where you are!"

Dean looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Just keep her attention on you. I'll grab the lighter and toss it over to you."

Sam looked down at Dean, "Dean stay away from her! The lighter's still lit."

Dean tried to argue, but Sam cut him off, "That's an order!"

Dean was actually shocked back onto his ass. Sam just gave him an order. What the hell was going on? He felt as though he was missing something. Something important had to have happened while he was covered in gasoline and he completely missed it. When had things gotten so completely out of control?

"Drop the gun now!"

Sam and Dean both squinted into the spotlight. Sheriff Crell and a local deputy crouched behind the two doors of the squad car holding shotguns of their own. Dean looked over, noticing that Jillian had disappeared and the lighter, now closed lay harmless in the grass. Sam had carefully placed the shotgun down and stepped away from it with his hands up. A few minutes later, both brothers found themselves handcuffed in the back of the local squad car.


	4. Chapter 4: The Breakdown

**September 11, 2001- We will never forget...for the world- a tragic day that spawned a war. For NYC- a day when people we loved left for work and never came home...**_  
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_Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them. I tend to be a bit paranoid and look at the stats and note how much fewer people clicked to read chapter 3 as compared to chapter 2. Then I end up thinking, wow, chapter 2 must have really sucked since I lost half the readers. Well, I guess there's nothing I can do about them now, but I can certainly do my best to keep the rest of you interested. So if you like the chapter, please let me know...and if you didn't, feel free to let me know why..._

_I know many of you are looking for more angst- It's coming, I promise...chapter 5 doesn't end well for one of the boys (and we're headed that way in this chapter).  
_

_Okay, here's the next chapter...I hope you all enjoy it! And keep in mind- things are never as they seem in this story...  
_

**Chapter 4: The Breakdown**

Nobody spoke during the ride to the Sheriff's office. Sam silently hoped the sheriff didn't decide to search their hotel room. It was going to be hard enough to explain the cemetery without having to explain the weapons.

Once they arrived at the Sheriff's office, Sam immediately noticed an eye wash/chemical wash station mounted on the wall. He nodded at it to the sheriff. "My brother got gasoline in his eyes."

The sheriff brought the eyewash bottle over to Dean as the deputy brought Sam into the holding cell and unlocked his cuffs. Sam was locked in the holding cell as the sheriff assisted the still cuffed Dean in washing out his eyes. After a few minutes, Dean stood up and thanked the Sheriff. The sheriff nodded, "There's a shower in the back and we can scrounge up a change of clothes for you. I'll take the cuffs off if you think you can be civil. There's nowhere for you to go. You don't have your car and the nearest town's over 30 miles from here."

Dean nodded, "I'll behave." Grateful to be able to move his arms, Dean followed the sheriff to the shower. As promised, he was given a clean set of clothes, including a plaid shirt, tight jeans, and old cowboy boots. Sam would have laughed at Dean's cowboyesque appearance but he didn't seem capable of feeling anything at the moment; laughter included. Dean found himself in a similar mood, seemingly incapable of thinking or feeling anything. If it weren't for the increasingly painful headache he was feeling, which he attributed to breathing in gas fumes and trying to see out of blurry eyes, Dean would have sworn that he was completely numb. This was the first time that either could remember when they had gone up against a ghost and failed the hunt.

Dean was escorted into a chair by the sheriff's desk as Sam was released from his cell to sit by Dean. The sheriff sighed and sat down heavily. "I don't like being woken up at 3 in the morning by screams and gunshots. This is a small town, not the big city. I'd ask what you boys were doin' in that cemetery in the middle of the night, but I think I've already got a pretty good idea."

The brothers looked at each other and then back to the sheriff. The sheriff rubbed his face and stubble and addressed Dean. "I expect someone gave you a name for that girl you saw out on the highway the other day."

Not knowing what he should say, Dean said nothing. The sheriff sighed again, "Look boy. I know that accident threw you, and I have respect for you for not pressing charges on the Cirellis, but blaming a girl that's been dead for over 15 years is not goin' to help, son."

Dean let out a breath and sat back in the chair. The sheriff was more skilled in detection then he had originally thought. The man continued, "You boys could have gotten yourselves killed tonight and you…" he pointed at Dean, "you're lucky you didn't lose both your eyes. Gasoline and shotguns aren't things to play around with."

Dean spoke up, "Sam had nothing to do with it. He was trying to stop me."

The sheriff nodded, "I saw. Shooting at you with a gun filled with rock salt." He gave a light chuckle and looked at Sam, "I've never seen that before. I'm guessin' he must be pretty stubborn if you have to carry around a gun so as you can shoot him if you need to stop him from doing somethin' foolish."

Sam didn't respond. Like Dean, he was surprised that the sheriff had figured out as much as he had. Although he hadn't determined the true purpose of the shotgun, the sheriff's conclusion, that Sam had brought the gun filled with rock salt to stop his brother, made sense. The sheriff turned back to Dean, "Look, my job here is to protect the people and property of this town. Jillian was a little girl and I'm not going to have you desecrating her grave, no matter what you think she's done. Now I'm not going to press charges on you this time because I saw you that day after your brother's accident. I've been workin' this job for a long time and this may be a quiet town, but I saw more than my fair share of trouble when I worked in Casper. I know when someone's been traumatized just by lookin' in their eyes."

Dean sat up to argue but the sheriff stood up and cut him off. He leaned over the desk and looked directly into Dean's eyes, "I saw you that day son and I'm lookin' at you right now. I know that it takes time for someone to get over feelin' helpless when someone they care about gets hurt. That's why I'm gonna let you and your brother go and let you stay in this town until your car is fixed. But I'm not going to let you desecrate that little girl's grave. Do you understand what I'm sayin', son?"

Dean was speechless. His emotions had just been put on display in front of the deputy and his brother by a complete stranger. The past few days had taken their toll, and despite feeling as though he was supposed to be angry at the way the sheriff exposed him, he found that he felt nothing. Once again, other than the pounding headache, Dean was completely numb.

Seeing that his brother was at a loss for words, Sam answered the sheriff, "We understand sir." Sam had been dumbfounded. He could tell by his brother's speechlessness that what the sheriff had said was true. But Dean had been traumatized? It made sense looking back on it. The quick temper, the uncharacteristic behavior, wanting Sam to stay in the hospital, staying in the motel room while Sam slept, Sam couldn't believe he hadn't figured it out earlier. Yes, he could. Sam hadn't figured it out because Dean had seen Sam hurt far worse in the past and was never traumatized before, at least not that Sam was aware. Dean had just dealt with it in the moment and moved on. He racked his brain trying to figure out why this time was different. He determined that it must have been the flu. Sam knew he, himself, had been more emotionally impacted by the accident because he was sick at the time. In fact, he could remember several occasions throughout the last few days when he knew that his illness was making him more susceptible to anxiety. Although Dean had been further along in recovery, that didn't mean the illness hadn't ripped down some of his defenses. Sam found himself feeling somewhat relieved and exceedingly grateful to the sheriff for finally figuring out what was wrong with his brother.

The sheriff walked the brothers out of the office, "This is a small town boys. By tomorrow mornin' everyone will know what you've done. I'm warning you now. There'll be people that will want to hurt you for it and there'll be others that would be thankin' you for it. Jillian could be a sweet little girl and the people of this town cared for her, but lots of the folks around here have been claimin' to see her ghost and ghosts frighten people, no matter how much the person was liked when they were alive." With that Sheriff Crell led Dean and Sam out the door.

The sheriff dropped the brothers off at their motel and handed Sam back the shotgun saying, "I don't want to see this here gun again. Understood?"

"Yes sir," and the sheriff drove off.

The brothers entered the motel room and sank wearily onto their beds. Neither spoke right away, both being overwhelmed with the failed hunt and the events of the last 48 hours. After several minutes of silence Sam spoke, "How are your eyes?"

Dean sighed, looking at the ceiling rather than his brother, "They're giving me a massive headache, but I think my vision's clearing up." After a moment Dean added, "What the hell happened out there Sam?"

Sam didn't know what Dean was referring to; a lot had happened out there. He was sympathetic to his brother's headache as he seemed to have one himself. Sam found himself shaking as he remembered his fear when he saw Dean with the lighter.

Noting the lack of an answer, Dean looked over at his brother. Sam looked like crap. "Hey," Sam looked up and Dean continued, "you alright?"

The numbness was wearing off and anger and fear coursed through Sam's veins. He sat up and spoke in a low voice, through his teeth, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Caught off guard by his brother's seething anger, Dean sat up, "What?"

Sam tried to hold in the tears as he looked at his brother. He continued speaking in unnaturally calm voice, "I watched my girlfriend, who I loved, burn to death in front of me. I watched it on Nov. 2, and every night since. And I might not remember it, but I also watched my mother burn to death."

Dean had no idea where this was going and Sam continued, "I can't do it again Dean. I can't watch someone else that I love burn to death."

"Sam, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam fought his emotions, desperately trying to keep his composure, "You!" He stood up and looked at Dean, "How could you do that! What the hell is wrong with you! I can't watch you burn to death, Dean! Not by the hand of the demon and DEFINITELY not by your own hand. You were covered in gasoline! What the hell were you thinking!" Sam ended screaming the last question before he lost control. He couldn't handle it anymore and found himself, much to his own shame, crying uncontrollably. Embarrassed, he covered his face with his hands and tried to pull himself together. He was shocked when he felt Dean pull him into a hug. Sam immediately hugged him back and broke down on Dean's shoulder. Dean rubbed Sam's head as he spoke, "Hey man, it's ok. Calm down, Sam."

Sam found himself wondering at the fact that Dean hated these emotional moments, but yet was so good at helping Sam get through them. There had been countless times throughout his childhood that Dean had hugged Sam the same way instantly reassuring him that everything would work out.

As Sam's regained control of his emotions, Dean pushed Sam back, holding him an arms length away. "Sam look at me." Sam looked up, "You will never watch me burn to death."

Sam shook his head at Dean's impossible promise, "Dean, you don't know that."

Dean gave Sam a shake, "Yeah I do 'cause I'm never going to let that happen. Now listen to me Sam. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing's going to be setting me on fire. Not that demon, not that ghost, and definitely not me. Understood?"

Sam smiled, intensely grateful for his brother's words. Logically, Sam knew that there was no way that Dean could keep that promise, but 22 years of trusting Dean completely made him believe it anyway.

Dean let go of his brother and poured four pills out of the ibuprofen bottle. He handed two to Sam and swallowed two himself. Sam looked at Dean questioningly. He explained, "Your fever's back again, I felt it. I'm thinking all this stress isn't helping your recovery."

Sam laughed and swallowed the pills. Once again he found himself marveled by how the flu was affecting his emotions. He returned to the seat on his bed and looked at the other bed where Dean was once again laying. "Dean, what the sheriff said…"

"Don't Sam." Dean knew where this was headed, but frankly the last emotional outpouring was enough to last him through the next month. There was no way Sam was getting another. The truth was, during the hunt, Dean hadn't seen things from Sam's perspective. At the time, Dean had just wanted to finish the hunt. He had been angry and embarrassed that the ghost of a twelve-year-old girl got the drop on him and he wanted nothing more than to end her. Sam had been right that there was still gas on him, but all of Dean's clothes had been soaked with water and it was unlikely, in Dean's mind, that the gas would catch. In Dean's mind, it was worth the risk. In Sam's mind, it wasn't and Dean hadn't really understood why until Sam's breakdown. However, as guilty as he felt for apparently scaring the shit out of his brother, one heart to heart was all Sam was going to get.

Dean sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, the discussion had probably helped himself as much as it had helped Sam. Down in his heart, Dean knew that he probably couldn't control how he died, but he saw Sam's face when he made that promise. The complete trust that Sam showed in that moment, cracked the ice that had held Dean at the scene of the car wreck. He may have been powerless to protect his brother from being hurt that day, but apparently he still had the power to heal Sam when he needed to. With that thought in mind, Dean rolled over and fell asleep.

Sam wasn't surprised at Dean's refusal to discuss what the sheriff had said. In fact, he found himself relieved. Dean was acting more like, well, Dean. In fact, Dean seemed to be considerably more emotionally stable and in control since they returned from the sheriff's office than he had at any time during the past two days. Sam didn't know what had changed, but he was more than happy that his brother seemed to be on the mend.

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Dean was awakened several hours later by a knock on the door. Looking at the clock, he noted that it was noon. Sam was still asleep. Still dressed in his new cowboy outfit and grumbling at the maid service for ignoring the 'do not disturb' sign, Dean opened the door. He stepped back in surprise as he realized that the knocker was not the maid service, but the local librarian instead. He squinted at her noting that his eyes were not as quickly healed as he would have hoped. He was going to have to wear shades for a while.

"I wanted to hear it for myself. I wanted an explanation. This whole town's buzzin' with the news that you boys were shootin' in the cemetery and you went an' tore up Jillian's grave. The folks 'round here are callin' you evil. Well, I'm not like those folks. I don't like to judge people without hearin' their side of the story. You boys seemed like nice boys yesterday." The librarian pushed Dean out of the way and entered the motel room, "Now I need to know why you did what you did to that little girl's grave. The sheriff said that you did it to punish her for causin' your brother's accident. Is that why you did it? 'Cause let me tell you, young man, that girl's been punished enough. She's been walkin' this Earth for 15 years now and can't find her way home."

Dean shook his head willing himself to once again have patience with the woman. "I'm sorry, but the sheriff prohibited us from discussing last nights events with anyone, you know for legal purposes. So, feel free to believe any rumors you want and make any judgments that you see fit. Thanks very much for stopping by."

Dean was escorting the confused and annoyed librarian back out the door when Sam spoke from the bed, "We were trying to help her."

The librarian looked back at Sam and Dean rolled his eyes in frustration. He had been so close to getting the woman to leave. Sam spoke again, "One of our father's friends, a preacher, once told us that if you burn a person bones, their spirit will move on. We wanted to help her."

Dean gave Sam a meaningful look of annoyance. Why was his brother indulging this woman? And why would Sam say they were trying to help the ghost?

The librarian, interest peeked, now re-entered the room to talk with Sam. "Man…" Dean moaned in frustration as the librarian sat on his bed.

Sam ignored his brother as the librarian spoke, "I believe you. I thought there must have been a reason for you to be where you were on that road." She looked over at Dean, "The sheriff told me you had parked there" and then returned to Sam, "No one has ever parked on that road. For you boys to see Jillian and then have that accident right where she was hit herself. I knew that the Good Lord must have sent you for a reason."

She looked over at Dean, "Oh. I was hopin' you boys would find a way to help her and then when I heard about what you done to her grave. I just couldn't understand it. But I knew." The librarian stood up, "The people in town said that you boys were evil for what you did, but I knew you weren't. That's why I came here; to find out for myself. Sheriff Crell, he knew you boys weren't evil neither. That man can spot evil from a mile away." She walked over and patted Sam's hand, "Well don't you boys worry. I'll clear this town right up for you. You just keep right on with what you're doin'. You just help that little girl find her way to the Lord." The librarian turned to leave.

Dean escorted the librarian out the door for the second time. Once she was gone, he turned back to Sam. "Sam, I had her out the door…"

Sam laid back and closed his eyes, "You would have let her leave thinking we were evil beings out to desecrate a little girl's grave. Now she thinks we've been sent by God to save a little girl's soul."

"Explain to me why that's better. As far as I can see, both are far from the truth."

Sam opened one eye to glare at Dean, "I'm not so sure. She had a point. Maybe we were parked in that place at that time for a reason."

Shooting his brother a look of utter disbelief, Dean responded, "Sure we were there for a reason, because I couldn't spend one more day in a motel room that apparently I've been sentenced to for the rest of my life." Receiving no response from Sam, Dean continued, "We are not here to save little miss rock salt immunity's soul."

"Maybe we are Dean. I mean, maybe that's why we couldn't burn her last night."

Dean shook his head determined, "No. Last night, we made rookie mistakes. The hunt went bad because of us, not divine intervention."

Sam sighed, "All I'm saying is, we're stuck in this town for awhile anyway, there's no rush. Maybe we should try to resolve Jillian's issue."

"And how the hell are we supposed to do that?"

Before Sam could answer, Dean interrupted him, "And so help me if you say we should talk to her. She hit you with a car and threw gasoline in my face; we're not talking to her."

That was exactly what Sam was going to suggest, but it looked as though he would have to try a different route. "We can ask around. Within the hour everyone in the town will know what we're trying to do, if they're like the librarian, they might be willing to help."

"Uh uh. No way. I've learned that lesson from experience. You do not involve the locals in the hunt. No. We need to finish what we started last night."

Sam disagreed, "How are we supposed to do that? They're going to be watching the cemetery for the rest of the time that we're in town and even if we could get into her grave again, with her rock salt immunity, we have no way to protect ourselves. And even if we manage to finish the job, the sheriff won't let us go a second time."

Dean sighed knowing Sam was right, "You're a real kill joy sometimes, you know that?" He rubbed his eyes, he really didn't want to do this, but there seemed to be no other choice, "Fine. We try to resolve her issue. But if it's not resolved by the time the car is fixed, we're burning the bones and getting the hell out of here."

"Do your eyes still hurt?"

Dean stopped rubbing his eyes, "No, but they're still blurry. I think I'm going to have to trip back to the 80s and break out the shades." Then he felt Sam's head. "This is getting old Sam. I was over this in three days. This is now what, day six for you? You're really milking this thing."

"Believe me, I'm sick of this as much as you are, unfortunately, I haven't gained my magical healing powers yet."

Dean handed Sam some pills, "Hey. Don't say shit like that, knowing you, someone might be listening and decide to grant your wish."

Sam swallowed the pills and sat up, "At least trying to resolve her issue should be more passive than the alternative. I honestly don't feel well enough to try to burn her again."

"Neither do I Sammy," Dean whispered to himself as he went to his bag to grab a change of clothes. No way was he leaving the room dressed as a cowboy.


	5. Chapter 5: Complications

_Ok, so I've made a pseudo-resolution (not enough will power for a whole resolution) to not look at the stats because clearly I am not able to handle the information that they provide me. :-) _

_Thank you all so much for the reviews! I really did need that pick-me-up...you guys are great!  
And for Black Roses and Julie who I can't reply to: Thank you for the reviews and encouragement. And Black Roses- this chapter should be right up your alley. _

_And now onto the fun...  
_

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**Chapter 5: Complications**

Dean snapped his cell phone closed as Sam exited the motel's main office.

"What the hell have you been doing in there?"

Sam resisted smiling and giving away what he had been doing. He quickly changed the subject, "Did you get in touch with the auto shop in Denver?"

Dean nodded grimly, "Yeah. They won't be able to get the parts for another month." Then he looked over to see Sam smiling. "Something funny about that Sam?"

Sam wiped the grin off his face and cleared his throat, once again anxious to change the subject. He pointed to the local barbershop, "I'll bet they know something about our ghost."

Dean sighed. After their last interview, he was not anxious to talk to more of the locals. Hell, before their last interview he wasn't anxious to talk to the locals. His father had taught him that the best hunters worked fast, efficiently, and stealthily. So far, this particular hunt had managed to encompass none of those characteristics. To make it worse, Dean knew that neither he nor Sam would be able to take on the ghost again for awhile, which meant that they had to do it this way or give up the hunt completely and Dean was never a fan of retreat. He grimaced in annoyance and frustration; the ghost of a twelve-year-old girl was kicking their asses. He turned to Sam, "You planning on giving these people your little 'we're trying to save a soul' speech too? 'Cause that went over real well with the Fayes."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean was right, the speech hadn't gone over well with the Fayes. The brothers had decided to begin their interviews with the motel owners, Mr. and Mrs. Faye. Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Faye had little to no information about Jillian or the Maida family. In addition, due to their now well-known cemetery escapades, the Fayes were already highly suspicious of the brothers. Sam's 'trying to save a soul' speech only heightened the Fayes' distrust, now making them think that the brothers were insane. Sam shook his head as he remembered the Fayes' reaction, "So…you think the ghost of some girl is haunting the cemetery and you want to resolve her issues so that she can find the light…" That was the point where Mrs. Faye had picked her two-year-old daughter off the floor and carried her inside, away from the apparently insane guests. Sam laughed, he could only imagine what the Fayes thought of them now. After the interview, when Dean had gone to call the auto shop, Sam had stayed behind in the office. Looking to repay his brother for his constant support, Sam had asked if there were any rooms with a different décor. Apparently there were, but those rooms only came with a single bed. Sam had asked Mr. Faye to switch their rooms, assuring him that he would move all of their belongings to the new room by this evening. Mr. Faye eyed him warily, but agreed. Sam was more than happy to sleep on a rollaway bed and give Dean the queen. Over the past few days, he was recognizing more and more just how much he owed Dean and sleeping on a rollaway was the very least he could do to repay him.

Realizing that he hadn't answered Dean, Sam spoke up, "At least they didn't throw us out of the motel."

"At this point, I'm not sure that I would care if they did. At least then I could sleep in peace without my dreams being covered in that damn wallpaper." God, he hated that room.

A ringing bell atop the door signaled the boys' entrance into the barbershop. The barber, a man in his early sixties gave the brothers a large smile, "Come on in boys. You must be those boys who had a hell of a time in the cemetery last night. Heard you went ghost huntin'." The man chuckled, "Reminds me of when I was a boy. Me and Zeke over there (he pointed to a skinny man sitting in one of the barber chairs), we used to get drunk and find ourselves in a whole heap of trouble."

Zeke glared suspiciously at the boys as he added, "Yeah, but we never went around desecrating little girl's graves."

"Jillian Maida was a nutcase. If she had lived a little longer, she'd probably be desecrating graves herself." The barber and Zeke turned to the man who had just spoken. He looked to be about Dean's age, was dressed as a cowboy, and was covered in dust. He stood next to the cash register, scratching his stubbled chin.

The barber spoke, "You know better than to be speakin' ill of the dead Denny."

Denny rolled his eyes and turned to Sam, "I knew Jillian. I went to school with her, I spent time at her house, and I was best friends with Paulie, her brother. Trust me, that girl was a loon."

The barber walked over to where Denny stood, "Now I ain't gonna say it again Denny. Quit speaking ill of the dead."

Denny argued, "Oh give me a break, Jim. Your just worried that she'll start hauntin' your shop here."

The barber pulled up close to Denny while looking around wildly, "Now you hush up! You're damn straight I don't want that girl's ghost comin' around here. Now quit tryin' to piss her off."

Ignoring the barber, Dean turned to Denny, "What makes you say she was crazy?"

Before Denny could answer, the barber turned back to the brothers, "Why'd you boys come in here anyway? Somthin' I can do for ya?"

Dean flashed a grin and put his arm around Sam's shoulder, "My brother's been complaining that he needs a haircut."

Sam's mouth dropped open. He turned to Dean to argue, but before he could speak the barber smiled, "Well, sure." He tapped a chair and pulled out a drape, "Just sit right here and we'll get you lookin' like a man again in no time."

It took all Dean's willpower to keep from doubling up in laughter. Man, he liked that barber.

Sam was shaking his head, "No, that's really ok. I think this haircut's growing on me…"

Dean interrupted and pushed his brother forward, "Oh go on Sam, don't worry about the money, this one's on me." He turned to the barber who was draping Sam, "Make it real short and neat. Maybe a buzz cut."

The barber nodded and pulled out his electric razor. Sam ducked and held out his hands, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. No razor." He jumped out of the chair.

Dean walked over and putting his arm around Sam he turned to the barber, "He's afraid of electric razors. Almost got his ear cut off by one as a kid." The barber nodded in sympathy.

Dean leaned in close to Sam. "Jimbo over there isn't going to let us hang out here long enough to grill Denny unless one of us is getting a haircut…and since you're the one who wants to resolve the dead girl's issues, then it's your head that gets to go under the razor." Sam sighed and Dean patted him, "Don't worry Sam, I'm sure your girly locks will grow back in no time."

Sam glared at Dean as he made his way back to the barber's chair, "Just a short trim. Leave the layers, don't take more than a quarter of an inch off."

The barber turned to Zeke, "What the hell are layers?"

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Dean was still snickering as he and Sam walked away from the barbershop. Although the barber had taken more than a quarter of an inch off and hadn't left the layers, Dean thought that the man had done a fairly decent job. Even Sam must have thought so because he seemed only slightly annoyed as opposed to down right pissed. 'Man, that was a good one' Dean thought. He figured forcing his brother into the unwanted haircut had to fall somewhere on his top fifty list of hilariously funny tricks played on Sammy. It was almost as good as that time when he was fourteen and had convinced Sam that there was a monster in their new apartment that would eat him unless he crawled every time he entered the bathroom. That particular joke had lasted a full week before their father found out and reamed Dean out for joking about the supernatural. He laughed as he remembered Sammy getting on all fours every time he entered the bathroom.

"What's so funny?" Still annoyed about the haircut, Sam glared at Dean.

Dean attempted to hide his laughter, "I was just remembering when we were in Pueblo, Colorado and you decided to crawl every time you had to go." Dean resumed laughing as Sam glared harder.

"I didn't 'decide' to crawl. YOU told me that I HAD to crawl or a monster would eat me."

Dean continued laughing. Sam rolled his eyes and changed the subject, "So what did Denny say about Jillian?"

Dean sobered up and turned serious, "Apparently, our little ghost was complaining for months that she was being possessed at night."

Sam stopped walking and faced Dean, "By what?"

Dean shrugged, "Denny didn't know. He said that no one really wanted to be around the girl so no one ever stopped to ask her questions. He said that she used to look at people and really freak them out." Dean gave a knowing grin, "She spent a lot of time at the library though." Sam rolled his eyes as Dean continued, "When she started complaining about the possessions, everyone just assumed she was either crazy or was making it up as an excuse for her sleepwalking. Denny said that all the kids, Jillian's brothers included, used to tease her about the sleepwalking. He said that Jillian would get upset and insist that she was only sleepwalking because the 'thing' that lived in the house would go into her at night while she was sleeping."

Sam's breath quickened, this would make things infinitely more complicated, "Do you think she was telling the truth?"

Dean turned and continued walking, "How the hell should I know Sam? I'm getting this information second hand." He shook his head, "There's only one way we're going to find out. We search the house."

Dean continued the walk in silence. This new complication would make things a lot harder. He was pretty sure from the details that Jillian had given Denny that the girl hadn't been lying. That meant that Jillian had been possessed the night she died, and whatever possessed her had made her walk in front whatever hit her. At the very least, they seemed to have figured out what the ghost's unresolved issue was. Now they just had to resolve it; but apparently the resolving wouldn't be as passive as Dean would have liked. If they were lucky, there would be a ghost haunting the house, which meant that they could just cleanse the house, and Jillian's issue would be resolved. However, Dean knew from experience that 'lucky' was not often in the Winchester's vocabulary. If the thing was still possessing Jillian when she died, then it was possible that the thing was still attached to her in some way. Dean felt the anxiety creep up as he realized that that would explain why Jillian was immune to rock salt. If the thing possessing her wasn't a ghost, then the thing would be immune to rock salt. And if that thing was still attached to Jillian, she would also have its immunity. Dean took a deep breath, there were only three things that he was aware of that could possess people: ghosts, unnamed spirits, and demons. Since, ghosts had been ruled out by the rock salt immunity, and unnamed spirits usually did not scare their hosts or engage in malevolent acts, that meant that Jillian had probably been possessed by a demon.

"Wonderful…" Dean stopped as he realized that Sam wasn't next to him. He spotted his brother about ten feet behind him rubbing his temples and swaying. Dean looked at the sky as if questioning how it was possible for things to keep getting worse. He walked over to Sam, "Tell me you're not having a vision."

"I'm not having a vision. I just got dizzy for a sec. I'm ok." Sam straightened up and looked at his brother. Dean looked worn out and Sam couldn't blame him. He knew Dean's vision was still blurry and their hunt had just become more complicated. Then, of course, to top it all off was Sam's never-ending bout with the flu. Sam's thoughts lifted though as he remembered that he had gotten a new motel room for his brother. He just needed some time away from Dean to transfer all their gear to the other room. "Listen Dean, why don't you go to the library and see if you can dig up some more info. on the house. I'm going to go rest for awhile."

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Is that an order Sam?"

Sam froze. He had almost forgotten about the order he had given Dean last night. He cringed as he tried to brace himself for whatever Dean's reaction was going to be, but when he opened his eyes, he saw Dean standing with a grin on his face. Sheepishly Sam tried to explain, "Look Dean…I freaked out ok. I thought you were insane and thought it was up to me to finish the hunt." When Dean didn't respond, Sam continued, "I was only doing what I thought you would do in the same situation."

Dean's grin left immediately and he took a step back, "What I would do? I've never given you an order, man. We work as a team." Then he looked at Sam, "You think I boss you around? Do I make you do things that you don't want to do?"

"You made me leave the other motel." The second it left his mouth, Sam regretted it. He knew Dean had questioned that decision because it had led to the car accident. Sam had just delivered a low blow and for no reason. He wasn't mad at Dean in the least and yet clearly he had hurt him. Sam silently yelled at himself, 'way to help your brother get over being traumatized, Sam'.

Dean felt like he'd been punched. All the air had left his lungs and the guilt that had been gradually dissipating since the accident came back in full force. He didn't know why, but he hadn't seen that coming. But Sam was right; he had made Sam leave the last motel before he was ready. Sure, maybe he never used the phrase, 'that's an order,' but apparently he had been giving orders nonetheless.

The silence hung in the air and Dean's lack of response only served to increase Sam's panic, guilt, and headache. He had to correct this now. "I didn't mean it like that."

Dean glared at him, warning him not to go there, "Sam."

But Sam was undeterred, "I mean it, man. It came out wrong…Look, you don't order me around and you've never made me do anything I didn't want to do. You've made me do things that I've been hesitant about or haven't been thrilled about, but you've never forced me to do anything. Even leaving the motel, if I really didn't want to go, we'd still be there."

Dean shook his head and began to walk away but Sam continued, "I really didn't want to find a different motel when we got here," Dean stopped and turned back towards his brother.

Sam persisted, "if you forced me to do things that I didn't want to do, you would have forced me to find a new motel. But you didn't, Dean. If anything, I forced you to stay in that crappy room."

Dean shook his head, "No. You were sick, that was more important."

Sam nodded, "That's the point. The motel in Peoria…I would have liked to have stayed one more day, but I chose to go because I knew you'd go crazy if you had to stay there and you were more important than the motel."

Dean nodded and waved Sam off before he continued walking. The conversation had gone on long enough, he wasn't about to let Sam get into how much Dean meant to him. He was still recovering from the touchy feely moment of last night. Sick Sam really was a pain in the ass. He heard Sam sigh and jog to catch up to him. Coming to a realization, he grinned and turned to Sam, "You know who you really acted like last night, you know, when you were trying to be me?"

Confused, Sam shook his head, "Who?"

Dean grinned larger, "Dad."

Sam was stunned; Dean was right. Dean shook his head in astonishment and laughed, "Man, I bet you would've even given the old man a run for his money last night. You looked like you were about to tear somebody's head off."

Sam was not as amused, "A lot of good it did. If it were actually dad, the hunt would've been finished."

Dean agreed, "That's because dad would have finished the investigation and known what he was up against before he went after the ghost." He shook his head again, "Rookie mistakes, Sam."

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It wasn't thirty minutes later that Dean was standing outside the library, trying to find the courage to go in and talk to the nosy librarian. Sam would have been a much better choice to talk to the woman, as Dean honestly lacked the patience to do so. But Sam was sick and they needed some information on the house, which meant Dean had to do it. He held his breath as he pushed open the library doors.

Immediately the librarian looked up and smiled, "Dean!"

"God, she knows my name…" Dean muttered to himself before plastering on a fake smile. He figured the woman had to be at least 80 years old.

"I told all the folks I could Dean, about what you and your brother were up to. Some of the people in this town just don't understand; they don't have that kind of faith. I'm not givin' up on them though, I pray for them everyday."

Dean grimaced and nodded, "Uh huh, that's nice ma'am. I was wondering if you could tell me about the Maida's house." Dean tried to get straight to the point to avoid encouraging the woman's chitchat.

The librarian looked thoughtfully and then began reshelving books, "Well, it's a white house. Although now it's a bit run down, you know, since the Maida's left."

Dean shook his head, "No, I mean, did the Maida's ever complain about anything strange happening in the house?"

The librarian looked confused, "Like what? I don't really remember them sayin' much at all about their house. Like I told you boys the other day, that family liked to keep to themselves."

Dean closed his eyes trying to grow tolerance for the woman. He tried again, "Have the new owners complained about the house?"

Once again the librarian was confused, "What new owners?"

Dean resisted slamming his head into the wall as he began to wonder if Sam had sent him to see the librarian in revenge for his new haircut. "The people who bought the Maida's house after the Maida's left."

The librarian patted Dean's arm, "Oh. Well, I don't really know who bought the house. I heard it was some rich folks from Chicago. They were hopin' to make an investment of the land. That's good grazin' land. You know, the Maida's had over 100 head of cattle on that land." The librarian looked thoughtful for a moment, "Now that was somethin' strange."

With a sigh and a genuine lack of interest, Dean asked, "What was?"

"The week before Jillian, Lord rest her soul, died, two of the Maida's cattle were found dead. I don't want to go into the details, but they were all cut up. Folks all through town heard those steers screechin' in the night." The woman shuddered. "They were cut while they were livin."

Interest now peaked, Dean asked, "Cattle mutilations?"

The librarian shook her head, "My Lenny, that was my husband, been dead these past eight years, may he rest in peace, he saw the cattle. He told me that no animal done it."

"Did Jillian ever say anything about it?"

The librarian looked appalled, "Are you out of your knickers boy? That girl was just a baby. No one would be talkin' to her about such things. Goodness. It was bad enough that she was always takin' out those awful, sinful books." The librarian patted Dean's arm again, "I tried to get her to read good Christian books, we have a whole section, but Jillian was only interested in those pagan books. Told me, 'you should always know what your up against'. She was such a strange child, but she learnt that from her parents."

"Do you still have the books she used to take out?"

"Thank the Lord no. I must've written twenty letters to the Fremont County Library Board of Directors, they're the folks that are in charge of what books we carry, askin' them to stop carrying those horrible books. Just two years ago, they agreed to move the books over to the Riverton branch."

Dean closed his blurry eyes in frustration, "Do you know what the books were about?"

"Oh all sorts of devilish things. Most were about demons and other ungodly spirits. Then there were other books on torture. All sorts of awful, sinful topics."

Dean nodded, that was enough for him to know. Jillian had been researching demons to know what she was dealing with. 'Smart kid,' Dean thought. Now he just needed to know one more thing, "Are the people from Chicago, the ones who bought the house, living there now?"

The librarian shook her head, "No. Nobody's been in that house since the day the Maida's left."

Finally something was going their way! Dean smiled and shook the woman's hand, "Thank you ma'am." He had news to share with Sam.

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Sam had just dropped off the key to their old room in the main office. Moving all of the weapons and gear hadn't been easy, but it was worth it. Sam smiled as he tried to anticipate the look on his brother's face when he saw the new non-puke green room. Squinting at the setting sun, Sam watched as his vision began to swim. He felt the blood drain from his face as his arms and legs became heavy. With a detached feeling, he reached out a hand and felt it connect with the wall. Small green spots began to rise up in front of him as he consciously slowed his breathing in the hopes to gain control of his body. After a few moments, the spots descended and Sam felt his blood resume it's circulation. He attempted to push himself off the wall and return to the room when the green spots once again began their rise. Knowing that he wasn't going to make it, Sam slowly slid down the concrete wall and sat against it facing the corridor of rooms. His left side pressed against the wall and Sam pushed his head onto the wall hoping to steal some of its cool. Sweat dripped down his back as he tried to determine the best way to the room. His thoughts were interrupted when Dean's concerned face appeared in front of him.

Dean had hurried back to the motel, eager to tell Sam what he had found. His hurry became a run as he saw Sam, who was supposed to have been asleep, sitting against the outside of the motel. Sam stared at him with glassy eyes as felt Sam's head for the third time that day. He swore as he realized that his brother's fever was higher than before. Dean moved to hoist his brother up, but Sam interrupted him, "Wait, wait. Just give me a sec."

"Sam, we need to get you inside and call a doctor. This has been going on way too long."

Sam nodded with his eyes closed, "We're in room 12."

"What?"

Sam rolled his eyes, this hadn't been the way he planned on surprising his brother, "I moved us. For you. I'll take the rollaway. It's room 12." Sam held out the key.

Dean took the key without fully understanding what Sam was talking about. Then he grabbed Sam under his left arm and around his right waist and pulled him up. Sam swayed and leaned his head into Dean's chest. Dean allowed Sam some time to gain his composure before putting Sam's right arm around his shoulder and leading him to room 12. Dean hoped that he understood his brother correctly as he opened the door to the room. When they walked in, Dean stopped short. The room was plain with beige walls and blue carpet. In the middle of the room was a queen-sized bed with a blue bedspread. Both of their bags were cramped into one corner of the room while a small rollaway bed sat folded up in the other corner. "Sam? What happened to the other room?"

"I traded it. For this one. It's not puke green. You won't have to blow your brains out." Sam's breaths were coming in gasps as he struggled not to pass out.

Dean was still confused, "Sam, this room only has one bed."

Sam closed his eyes in disappointment, this was not the way he had pictured Dean reacting at all. He tried again to explain, "There's a rollaway bed. I just have to unfold it. I'll sleep on that and you can have the bed. I wanted you to be happy. This room's not puke green."

Now understanding, but annoyed that his brother had put them in a room with one bed just to give him a better décor, Dean walked Sam over to the queen-sized bed and helped him lie down.

Sam struggled against him assuming, in his fevered brain, that Dean still didn't understand. "No, Dean. This one's your bed. I have the rollaway."

Annoyed and uncomfortable with his brother's 'gift', Dean pushed Sam hard onto the bed. Sam landed with a grunt and looked up at Dean. "Stay Sam. We'll deal with the beds later. Right now, you need to see a doctor."

Sam rolled over in disappointment, not understanding why Dean was angry about the room. He vaguely heard Dean talking on the phone as he drifted off into sleep.

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_As always- please review and let me know if you liked it or if you didn't..._


	6. Chapter 6: Shattered Glass

_Hey people! Thank you all soooo much for taking the time to review! You made me so happy...Really. Thank you._

_For those I can't reply to: Cutipie2191, JRAismine, BlackRoses, cliane: Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate your support and encouragement, and I'm glad to see that you're still enjoying the story.  
_

_So this chapter is a bit drawn out and slow moving (so I apologize), but that freakin' doctor just wouldn't leave. Something about thorough examinations...Also, the glass bit is actually a true story- it happened to my friend Maria, so as random and unrealistic as it sounds- it can happen._

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Within an hour of calling the motel's main office, the local doctor arrived at the door to the brother's new room. Dean found himself wary of the doctor as he appeared to be about Sam's age and spoke with a thick New York accent. Apparently, the local Wyoming towns had paid for his medical school in return for 6 years of service as the local general practitioner. Based on the age of the kid, Dean figured this must have been his first year paying off his debt.

Dean explained the course of Sam's illness while Dr. Stein began his examination. Sam had been sleeping when the doctor entered the room, but slowly awoke during the examination. With Dean's help, Dr. Stein had Sam sit up as he took Sam's blood pressure and temperature. Upon pulling the thermometer out of Sam's ear, the doctor stood up and gave a low whistle. He turned to Dean, "I saw an ice machine a few doors down. Go fill the ice bucket. He needs to get cooled down now." Dean left the room and the doctor resumed his examination.

"Okay, do you have any pain anywhere Sam?"

Sam shrugged, "Everything hurts…my head is killing me."

The doctor felt around Sam's head, "Your brother said that you had been in a car accident. Did you hit your head?"

Sam shook his head. The doctor continued, "Have you had any difficulty remembering things? Any difficulty concentrating?" Again Sam shook his head.

"Blurry vision?"

Sam nodded, "My brother, Dean, his vision's been blurry. He got gasoline in his eyes last night."

The doctor nodded continuing his examination, "Well, I'll check him out in a minute. Right now, let's worry about you. Has _your_ vision been blurry?"

Sam shook his head. "Alright. I need you to take your shirt off for me and lie down on your back."

Sam followed the instructions and indicated that nothing hurt when the doctor tapped on his abdomen. Finally, Dr. Stein asked Sam to sit up again. He was lightly pushing all over Sam's chest and back when Dean re-entered the room. Already wary of the doctor Dean called out, "Man, what the hell are you doing?"

The doctor jumped, "I'm checking your brother for an infection. It's possible that they missed a piece of glass when he was at the hospital."

Dean walked over to the bed, "It's not an infection. I already told you, he has the flu. You can skip the gay molestation and just write a prescription." Dean didn't trust the adolescent doctor and did not feel a need to be subtle about it.

Dr. Stein raised his eyebrows and stood up from the bed, "Well then, I don't know what you needed me for since you're clearly able to make a diagnosis, what with all the medical training you've had."

Dean glared at the young doctor, "Alright, you know what? That's it. I've taken care of Sam his whole life and gotten him through every illness he's ever had. I'm not going to take shit from Doogie Howser. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

The doctor didn't move, "You're an arrogant ass you know that?"

Dean slowly turned back to Dr. Stein. He didn't know if the man was a complete idiot and didn't understand what Dean was capable of doing to him, or if the man was completely out of touch from reality and thought that he could take Dean. Either way, Dean figured, the egotistical prick was going to go down before he even saw the fist coming. However, before he could throw the punch, the doctor spoke again, "I can promise you that it's an infection and not the flu. The lymph nodes under his arms are swollen. They wouldn't be if it were a virus; which the flu is."

Dean held his hand in a fist, but resisted punching the man to hear what else he had to say. The doctor didn't appear intimidated and continued speaking, "My guess is that your brother probably did have the flu last week, but recovered from it," he paused sarcastically adding, "no doubt due to your professional quality care." Dean's fist grew tighter as Dr. Stein went on, "but now he has a bacterial infection and unless we can clear that up, he'll be spending the next few weeks in the hospital…or a coffin."

Dean was fuming, literally shaking with anger. His emotions were already stretched incredibly thin and this piece of shit had just insulted him several times and insuated that Sammy was going to die. It took every ounce of will power that Dean had not to beat the shit out of the man right then and there. He couldn't pound him, he told himself, not until he knew if the man was telling the truth. So with much reluctance, Dean stepped out of the way and allowed the doctor to resume his examination. He looked down and saw Sam staring at him with a questioning look. No doubt Sam was confused as to why the doctor was still standing as well.

After another minute of pushing on Sam's back while Dean ground his teeth in anger, the doctor exclaimed, "I found it."

Sam was told to lie on his stomach as Dr. Stein filled a syringe with medication. He swabbed an area on Sam's back, "Now Sam, I'm going to give you a local anesthetic, you should feel a numbness on the upper left area of your back. The numbness will go away within the hour."

Dean grabbed the doctor's wrist hard causing the man to wince, "You're not injecting anything into my brother."

The doctor put down the syringe and picked up his tweezers, "Fine, if you'd prefer, I'll pull the shard out without any anesthesia."

Dean squinted his blurry eyes at Sam's back. Although the skin was red in the indicated area, he certainly didn't see any shards of glass sticking out.

The doctor raised his eyebrows and nodded, then he pinched the tweezers on an area near Sam's skin and pulled. Immediately Sam gasped, scrunched his eyes closed and grabbed the bedspread in two fists. The red area on Sam's back turned stark white. The doctor turned back to Dean, "Will you let me actually help him now or would you rather the hospital do this next week when his body goes into shock?"

Dean sat on the bed defeated, his anger vanished by the sight of his brother's pain. Free now to do his work, the doctor injected Sam with the anesthetic and then slowly began to pull out the shard of glass. After 10 minutes the shard was out and Dean found himself staring at a 5 inch long piece of glass that had previously belonged to his windshield. The doctor did his best to clean out the wound and gave Sam a shot of antibiotics. Dean still stared at the piece of glass. Dr. Stein watched Dean for a moment before speaking, "You should be happy it went in at the angle it did. That piece was long enough and thin enough that it could have gone through his ribcage and pierced his heart."

Dean continued staring and gave no indication that he had heard the doctor. Sam used his right arm to push himself into a sitting position facing Dean. He tapped him on the shoulder, "Hey."

Dean looked up, but still said nothing. Sam was beginning to get concerned. Dean had been acting much more like himself, now it seemed they had both taken a step backwards. Still, Sam tried again, "Dean," willing his brother to get it together.

Dean caught the concern in his brother's eyes. Sammy didn't need to be worried about him right now. Besides, Dean thought, worried and sick Sam led to crying Sam, which led to hugging Sam and enough was enough with that. Flashing a grin he didn't feel, Dean held up the shard of glass, "Guess we should call you shish kabob Sammy from now on."

Somewhat relieved, Sam laughed. The doctor interrupted the moment by handing Sam two pills. "Tylenol," he explained. "It's the best way to keep your fever down. If you don't have some, you can pick some up at the pharmacy down the street along with the antibiotics that I wrote up." Then he turned to Dean, "Wrap the ice up in hand towels and keep them under his armpits and on the back of his neck. Monitor his temperature. When I came in, it was over 104. You need to check it every hour; I'll leave you a thermometer. If it goes above 105 degrees, call an ambulance."

Dean shook his head once again looking at the glass. How did he miss the shard of glass? How had Sam missed the shard of glass? How could Sam have had a fever of over 104? How was it possible for Sam to have been skewered with a piece of glass and still dig out a grave? Guilt filled as he realized that he had once again failed protecting Sammy. The doctor interrupted Dean's thoughts, "Dean. Did you hear what I said?"

Dean remembered how much he hated the man and responded through his teeth, "I heard you." As the doctor turned away Dean threw in, "asshole."

Dr. Stein smirked and turned around holding a small machine, which looked like binoculars. He looked to Dean, "I need you to look through here."

Dean glared at the man, "What the hell for?"

The doctor sighed, "Your brother told me that your vision's been blurry after you got gasoline in your eyes. I need you to look through here so that I can determined how damaged they are."

Dean held his stance, "They're fine. You've fixed Sam; you're done here. Just leave the prescription for the antibiotics and get the hell out."

The doctor sighed and wrote out another prescription. Handing it to Sam he said, "It's most likely that his cornea, which is the outer most part of the eye, was burned by the gas. It should heal on its own over a few weeks, but scar tissue can form during the healing. This is a prescription for eye drops. He needs to put them in two times a day to prevent the scar tissue, otherwise his vision could remain blurry."

Sam nodded and Dean moved to argue. The doctor held a hand up, "How can you protect him if you can't see him? Use the eye drops."

Not having expected such a perceptive comment from such an obnoxious man, Sam and Dean were both shocked silent as the doctor left.

After a full minute of staring at the door, Sam stood up and walked over to the rollaway bed. "Sam, what the hell are you doing? Lay down."

"I'm going to, I just need to unfold my bed first." Sam fiddled with the rollaway, but between the fever and the left side of his back being partially numb, he couldn't seem to open it. He turned to Dean who was now standing next to him, "Can you give me a hand with this?"

Dean gently pushed Sam towards the bed, "You're sleeping on the bed Sam."

Sam shook his head determined, "No. Just help me open the rollaway."

Dean turned Sam so that he was looking in eyes, "Where in our history makes you think that I'm going to sleep on the bed while you with a fever sleeps on a rollaway?" Sam relented and although he had won the argument, Dean added, "I've screwed up enough Sam. I need you to take the bed." Then he left Sam to pack the towels in ice.

Sam sat down hard on the bed. He knew that Dean had meant it literally when he said that he 'needed' him to take the bed. He needed Sam to take the bed so that he could make up for whatever it was that he had 'screwed up'. It never ceased to amaze Sam how Dean could randomly pick things that he had absolutely no control over to feel guilty for. Yet, there were times when Dean had purposely hurt Sam either in anger or as a joke and he hadn't felt guilty in the least. Still, somehow Dean had convinced himself that it was his fault that Sam had gotten an infection. Too sick to analyze his brother any further, Sam laid down on the bed.

He felt Dean arrange the packs of ice around him as he began to drift off. Then he felt Dean's hand check his head for fever again as he heard Dean whisper, "I'm sorry Sammy." Sam couldn't help but wonder, 'how could he feel so guilty for failing me when I feel so grateful towards him for always supporting me?' With that question running through his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

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Dean needed to kill something, or at the very least shoot something. The past three days had been one hell of an emotional roller coaster and Dean knew that the only way that he was going to feel better was if he could focus his emotions outward. Holding them in almost got them killed in the cemetery the night before. "It's a damn shame that that doctor left," Dean thought to himself as he tried to think of something he could kill. He briefly thought of attempting Jillian's exorcism on his own, but then thought better of the idea. First, he had to monitor Sammy's temperature. Second, he still needed more information as to what exactly had been possessing Jillian before he tried to exorcize the thing. Third, he really didn't have a clue as to how to exorcize a ghost- that was a new one. Fourth, his vision wasn't at its best and he would more than likely be needing Sammy's help. He kicked the side of the TV stand in frustration.

Coming to the conclusion that he would need to alleviate his guilt and anger without killing or exorcizing anything, Dean turned to his third favorite method of therapy- cleaning the weapons. His second favorite self-therapeutic method, sex, had also been ruled out by the lack of available woman in their new temporary home. With a new plan for something to do, Dean unfolded the rollaway bed and pulled the weapons out from where Sam had hid them. "There's nothing like the smell of gun cleaner to lift a man's spirits…"

Sam awoke a few hours later to the hummed version of Alice In Chains' 'Man In The Box'. Confused, he rolled over to see Dean smiling as he cleaned the rifles. Sam shook his head in amazement and laughed to himself. He was relieved that Dean had been able to get over his self-imposed guilt trip so quickly. With his worry for Dean out of the way, Sam began checking his own functioning. The numbness in his back had worn off completely and the area where the shard once lay dormant now throbbed. However, his headache was gone as well as his muscle aches. Sam was guessing that his fever was down too. Recognizing that his head was laying on something uncomfortable, Sam reached under it and pulled out a towel filled with ice. Based on the fact that the ice hadn't yet melted, Sam figured his brother had been diligent about following the doctor's orders and had been constantly replacing the ice. Sam shook his head in disbelief that the doctor had managed to walk out of the room alive after saying what he had said. He had been positive that Dean was going to pummel the man, but apparently he was wrong. He turned back over to his brother to make sure that the gun cleaning was doing its job, "You good?"

Dean looked up at the sound of his brother's voice and seeing Sam looking at him coherently, he smiled. "Well, we're out of gun cleaner, but you'll be happy to know that all of our weapons have been expertly cleaned."

Sam smiled and nodded; Dean was good. "So that would explain why the towels of ice that I'm laying on smell like gun lube."

Dean smirked, "What? That's what towels are there for Sammy, to clean your hands with them. Would you have rathered I use your shirt?"

Sam rolled his eyes and sat up, "So now that I'm actually on the road to recovery, what are we going to do about Jillian?"

Dean continued reconfiguring the gun, "You mean if she's still possessed?"

Sam yawned and nodded.

Dean shrugged, "No clue. I called around to some of dad's friends earlier. None of them had ever heard of a ghost being possessed by a demon or a demon attaching itself to a ghost."

Sam rubbed his eyes and held his hand up, "Whoa, whoa. Did I miss something? How do we know it's a demon that was possessing her?"

"It's the only thing that would explain her immunity to rock salt."

Sam disagreed, "It could be an unnamed spirit."

Dean finished assembling the gun and looked up, "Unnamed spirits aren't malevolent, whatever possessed her made her walk in front of a car."

"And then somehow got trapped to her," Sam finished.

Dean nodded, packing up the gear, "Go back to sleep Sam. We'll worry about the ghost in the morning. We can't do anything until you're well healed anyway."

Sam didn't disagree. He picked up the ice filled towels and threw them at Dean who caught them easily, "Here. I don't need them anymore."

Dean gave Sam a look, "Yeah? Well, it better stay that way because Doogie Howser's not setting foot in here again, man. I don't care how sick you are."

Sam smiled, "Right."

"I mean it. You wouldn't want your big brother sentenced to life for murder. Would you?"

Laughing, Sam laid back down on his bed, "How's the rollaway?"

Dean gave Sam a look of annoyance, "Ass." Then he added, "I wouldn't give a shit if it was the floor topped with upright needles so long as it wasn't covered in puke green paisley."

Sam laughed hard as he pulled the covers over himself. "Goodnight Dean."

"Goodnight Sammy."

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_Don't let the end of the chapter fool you...there's still more angst for both brothers to come in the rest of the story, so have no fear...I go there (pardon me for sounding like a Degrassi commercial)._

_ As always please review and let me know if you liked it or if you didn't...  
_


	7. Chapter 7: Lies and Deceit

_Thanks everyone for all the reviews! Once again you have made my day! _

_For Black Roses and LRP: I'm glad you're enjoying the story and Roses: this chpater should answer your question...  
_

_Lots of you seemed to like the doctor, I think the poor guy was on the receiving end of Dean's anger because well, he called Dean an ass, and more importantly, Dean was frustrated at being helpless and needed someone to take it out on. But I'm glad ya'll liked him! _

_As for the glass...the original story is that when my friend Maria was 10, she was walking on the boardwalk barefoot and stubbed her toe. When she looked down, she saw a small splinter (1/2 cm) sticking out of the front of her big toe. She walked all over the board walk with it, played games, went on the rides, etc. When she got home, she asked her mom to pull the splinter out. Her foot was red, but didn't really hurt. Her mom took the tweezers and pulled...the splinter went nowhere and the heel of her foot turned bright white. They took her to the ER where they did and x-ray and the splinter was actually an 8" piece of wood that went from her toe straicht back to her heel. They had to cut open the bottom of her foot to remove it. Moral of the story: don't walk on boardwalks barefoot._

_ Anyway, now back to the story...  
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**Chapter 7: The House**

Dean awoke at 10 am the next morning. He hadn't meant to sleep so late, but apparently he had needed it. He sat up in his bed and stretched, rubbing his shoulder to help relax his stiff muscles. The rollaway had a stand with two metal bars across it to give it support. The mattress had done little to cushion the bars across Dean's back.

Fully stretched, Dean looked to the bed to see if Sam was still asleep. The bed was empty. Dean immediately jumped up and ran into the bathroom, to find that also empty. The panic took over almost immediately and he could practically hear his heart thumping in his chest. Looking down, Dean could see his t-shirt vibrate to the beat of his heart. Reaching under the bed, Dean grabbed a pistol and quickly loaded it. He had no idea what had happened to Sam, but he needed to be prepared…for something. If it was something supernatural, more than likely the gun wouldn't help, but having a gun that he didn't need was always better than needing a gun that he didn't have. Dean threw on his pants, slid the gun into his waistband and ran out the door…and into Sam.

Clearly startled, Sam wobbled back and forth desperately trying not to spill the two cups of coffee that was precariously balanced on his right hand. Cursing at the fact that his brother had apparently left of his own accord, Dean grabbed the coffees and stalked back into the room.

"I got us coffee and two egg sandwiches for breakfast." Sam happily announced as he held up a bag.

Dean faced him while removing his gun, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam looked surprised, "What? I just went to the pharmacy and the local coffee stand." He pointed with the bag, "They're just down the block."

Dean gave Sam a tired look, "Last night you were dying of an infection, and now it's, 'oh, there's no problem Dean, I just strolled down to the local coffee stand, picked up a few things, no big deal'…"

Sam sighed understanding his brother's annoyance. He hadn't meant to panic Dean. He had awoken around 8 am, and thought that he could do his brother a favor by getting breakfast and picking up their prescriptions. Dean had been dead to the world when he left, and Sam thought that he would make it back before his brother awoke. Thus, one more well intentioned surprise that in reality, had made Dean's life more difficult. "Sorry, man. I was just trying to help."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Do me a favor, Sam, don't help me again until you're fever free. You're a jackass when you're sick."

Sam raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Dean pulled the medicine out of the bag and noticed that there was no Tylenol. He turned to Sam who had begun eating, "Dude, where's the Tylenol?"

Mouth full of egg sandwich, Sam attempted to explain, "The other stuff was expensive and I figured that we already had ibuprofen and aspirin. Besides," he swallowed before continuing, "I don't have a fever anymore."

Dean shook his head and poured out one of the antibiotic capsules. "Jackass when you're sick, a complete, over-emotional, jackass." He handed the capsule to Sam, "It says to take this with food."

Taking the pill, Sam called back to Dean, "Use the eyedrops."

Dean looked up from where he was fiddling with the eyedrop cap, "What the hell does it look like I'm doing? Quit with the orders Sammy, you're not dad."

Sam winced and looked down, it seemed that Sam's morning disappearance had had a bad effect on his brother's mood. He ran a hand through his hair; he was going to be in for one hell of a day.

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Three hours and four arguments later, the brothers stood looking up at the weathered house that had once belonged to the Maida family. Dean moved to kick down the door but stopped when Sam held up his hand. Sam put his hand to the knob, turned it and pushed the door open. Dean glared at his brother and grumbled under his breath.

Walking through the door, the brothers found themselves in a dark empty room. On one wall was a fireplace that was now covered in dust. Along the other wall were rectangular discolorations in the paint indicating the spots where pictures used to hang. Dean guessed that they were standing in the Maida's former living room.

"Do you want to go floor by floor, or move straight to finding her bedroom?" Sam was still annoyed. As a result of one of their arguments before leaving the motel room, Dean had forced Sam to agree that they would not split up to search the house. Sam had cited that the house was most likely not haunted as it was the road and the grave that Jillian seemed to frequent, and it would be far more efficient for the brothers to search separately. Despite what he felt were excellent points, Dean had overruled him stating, "Look Sammy, based on what you looked like yesterday, you shouldn't even be out of bed much less hunting. So, either we're staying together, or you're going back to bed." Two hours later, here they were.

"We do it floor by floor." Dean pulled out a gun loaded with consecrated iron rounds and turned to Sam, "Get your gun ready, we start in the basement."

Sam pulled out his gun, loaded with silver bullets dipped in holy water. Sam followed his brother down the stairs mumbling to himself, "A lot of good this will do. Silver bullets are obviously well known for killing ghosts…"

Dean turned annoyed, "I'm not getting into this again, Sam. We don't know if anything will work. It's better to come prepared with everything. Now shut the hell up and pay attention to the hunt."

Sam shot his brother a look before concentrating on finding evidence of Jillian's possession.

After thoroughly searching the basement and first floor and finding nothing, the brothers made their way up to the second floor. The rooms of the second floor resembled the rooms throughout the rest of the house. All the rooms were empty with the exception of dust and cobwebs. There were discolorations, stains, and peeling paint along the walls, ceilings, and floors, but no sign of a demonic presence. Ready to give up, the brothers pushed open the door to the last room in the second floor hallway. On the door was a large sign, which read, 'Jillian's room: Keep Out!'

With a long creek, the door opened to reveal a fully furnished, albeit dusty, pink bedroom. A twin-sized bed sat in one corner of the room, a plain white dresser in the other. Over the bed hung a large poster of Marilyn Manson and on the bed laid a teddy bear with "somebody loves me" written on the bear's t-shirt. Strewn about the rest of the room were dust covered red candles. Looking up, the brothers stared at various herbs dried and hanging from the ceiling. However, the most disturbing area of the room was the floor. Painted on Jillian's pink carpet, in what appeared to be blood, were satanic symbols arranged in a circle.

Their awareness heightened by the ambiance of the room, both boys entered cautiously, avoiding the symbols that had been drawn on the floor. After a few minutes without any trouble occurring, the brothers slowly lowered their weapons.

Sam let out a breath as Dean spoke, "Well, this is a twist. Guess the Maida's decided to leave this part of the house behind. Not that I blame them."

Sam pointed towards the symbols, "Do you recognize any of these? I only recognize that one." He pointed at a symbol that appeared to be an 'A' in a circle.

Dean nodded, "Asmodeas, 'do as thou wilt'. The patron demon of teenage rebellion. Nice." Then he fished through his pack and pulled out his father's journal. "I think I've seen some of the other ones in here, give me minute."

Sam looked around the rest of the room while is brother searched the journal. Finally Dean passed the open journal to Sam. He pointed at the group of symbols that were explained in the journal. Sam read the description and looked up startled, "It's a demonic invocation".

Dean nodded, "It looks like sweet innocent Jillian was a devout devil worshipper."

Sam looked confused and appalled, "So she invoked the demon herself?"

Dean shrugged, "Looks that way."

Sam shook his head, "That doesn't make sense, why would it only effect her at night?"

"Don't know. Maybe it didn't. Maybe she was possessed the whole time. Denny said that she freaked people out."

Sam gave a laugh while looking around the room, "I'll bet."

Dean shook his head as he continued, "It just makes no sense that the demon would kill her. It'd be much more powerful in her body then if it were unhoused."

Sam shrugged, "Maybe she didn't realize what she was getting into and then when it was too late, she killed herself."

Dean stared at the symbols, "You mean she threw herself in front of a car?"

Sam shrugged and Dean shook his head, "Nah. There's no way. She'd have to be in control of her body to do something like that. Plus she'd have to plot it without the demon finding out, which would be damn near impossible."

Sam bent down and felt the paintings, "What I don't understand is why is it still attached to her? I mean, shouldn't it have been freed when she died?"

Dean agreed, "Hell, it should've jumped ship as soon as it felt her body dying." Then he gave a half-laugh, "At least we know it's not a friend of THE demon."

Sam looked confused, Dean explained, "If it was, Jillian would've been hit by the car and still be alive."

Sam stood up, "This makes no sense Dean."

Dean looked at him and referred to symbolic paintings, "Is it blood?"

Sam nodded.

Dean shook his head in disbelief, "Oh Jillian, you bad, bad girl." He turned to Sam, "Your innocent soul…looks like she slaughtered some cattle to get the blood for her ritual. Cut the steers limbs off while they were still alive."

Sam grimaced.

Dean snapped his fingers, "Hang on! The old lady, she said that the cattle had died a week before Jillian."

"Yeah, so?"

Dean continued, "So, Denny said that Jillian had been complaining of possession for months before she died."

Sam caught on, "So she was possessed before she invoked the demon." Sam considered this, "So, she's possessed by two demons? The original and the one she invoked?"

Dean shrugged, "Either that or she really was a sleepwalker and made up the story to cover her embarrassment." Sam looked at him questioningly, Dean defended his theory, "Hey, kids make up lies about things that they wish were really true. Maybe she wanted to know what it would feel like to be possessed, so she lied and told everyone that she was."

"That still doesn't explain why the demon killed her or how it got attached to her soul."

Dean repacked the journal, "Maybe…I don't know. Maybe someone else killed her. Found out what she did, hit her with a car, and performed a ritual while she was dying to bind the demon."

Sam looked skeptical, "That's really reaching Dean."

Dean showed his frustration, "You have a better theory, college boy? Let's hear it."

Sam sighed and rubbed his head, "I have no idea. This whole thing doesn't make sense to me. All I know is that the two times we were near her, it felt…weird."

"Like how? What do you mean weird?"

Sam studied the floor, "I don't know. When she pulled the lighter from my hand, I felt cold…evil. But there was a second, when she looked at me, where something else was coming through. It was good. I can't really explain it…I just know that she wasn't all evil."

"Well that's great Sam. Your sixth sense is a lot of help." Dean mimicked his brother, "She's evil, but she's also good."

Sam pushed in on his eyes. He was tired. "Let's go back to the motel and check the internet, maybe we can find out more information about what kind of demon these symbols are meant to invoke."

Dean agreed, "While your doing that, I'll call some more of dad's friends, see if anyone has heard of a ritual that would bind a demon to a human soul."

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The walk from the motel to the Maida house had been at least 40 minutes. Approximately 10 minutes into the return trip, Sam was beginning to seriously doubt his decision to accompany his brother to the house. His back, where the shard of glass laid yesterday, was now throbbing. When he had awoken this morning, he had convinced himself that his fever had disappeared. Looking back on it, Sam realized that had been more wish than reality and by this point, he was considerably worried that he would fall behind on his way back to the motel.

Sam laughed to himself as he considered the fact that his biggest concern should be getting back to the motel, when in actuality his biggest concern was how to prevent Dean from becoming aware of how crappy he felt. The main problem was the throbbing wound on his back. It was in a position that Sam couldn't see and he knew that he would need his brother's help to treat and bandage the wound. Given the way it was throbbing, it would probably be best if he dealt with it immediately upon returning to the room. However, there were two problems with that. The first problem being that Dean would have to touch him to clean the wound and in doing so, would feel his fever. The second problem was that the wound probably didn't look that great and would alert Dean to how Sam was actually feeling.

Sam sighed. He really didn't want his brother handling this hunt alone. That was the reason that he had convinced himself that fever was nonexistent this morning. He knew that if Dean knew about the fever, he'd be grounded (grounded at 22 by his older brother) and Dean would have searched the house alone. On any day, the thought of Dean hunting alone made Sam nervous. Not that his brother wasn't an excellent hunter, but shit happened on these hunts and sometimes, you just ended up tied to a tree as a sacrificial victim. Today, however, Dean hunting alone made Sam especially nervous because of his brother's eyesight. Ghosts tended to be hard to see as it was, with blurry vision, Sam was concerned that Dean would miss something…and end up getting killed. Sam shuddered. The image of Dean with the lighter was still fresh in his mind; if Sam hadn't been there at that time…and Dean said that _he_ made shit ass decisions…

Sam sighed again. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he let his brother check the wound, he'd be found out and Dean would take matters into his own hands. However, if he kept quiet about the wound, it would get worse, eventually Dean would find out anyway and still take matters into his own hands. Sam kicked at the dirt. If his brother was just capable of waiting a few days, then he would be better and they could go after this ghost together, but Sam knew that 'patient' would never be a trait used to describe Dean Winchester. Having come to a conclusion, Sam nodded to himself and turned to tell his brother about the wound.

Sam cleared his throat, "Uh, hey Dean?"

Dean, who had been engrossed in his own thoughts, looked up, "Yeah."

Sam took a breath and tried to rally his courage, "Uh, I um…see, the thing is…holy shit!"

Dean whirled around gun drawn at whatever had startled his brother. Behind him, he heard Sam cock his own gun. After his one eighty, Dean found himself, once again staring at the ghost of Jillian Maida. Looking down, Dean kicked himself, he should have known it was coming; the brothers were finally standing on pavement rather than a dirt road. They had reached Rt. 20. In fact, over to his left, the direction that he had originally been walking, lay the glass remains of what once was his beloved car. Man, he hated that girl.

As for the ghost, she just stood, swaying from one barefoot to the other, studying the brothers. Dean took the opportunity to speak up, "Hey Jillian. Guess where we just came from?" He plastered on a sarcastic grin, "You'll be happy to know that your parents left everything in your room alone. Even though they took everything else with them, but your shit? Guess they didn't want any evidence of what a devil worshipping freak their little girl was. Hell, they even left your teddy bear. Tell the truth now, you bought that for yourself right? I mean, I can't imagine that anyone actually loved you."

"Dean…" Sam warned. He was uncomfortable with his brother's attempts to piss off the ghost. They still had no good way of defending themselves, and it just felt wrong to insult someone who looked so young.

Jillian gave no acknowledgement that she even heard Dean. The girl continued to stand and stare at the brothers.

Dean continued, "We saw the little painting you drew on the floor, too. Were hoping to get some satanic recognition, huh? Looks like you screwed up with your little invocation though. What's the matter? You realized that demons don't like to take orders from little girls? What happened, did the demon sleepwalk wittle Jillian in fwont of a bus?"

Clearly Dean had hit a nerve. Jillian lowered her head, glaring at Dean through squinted eyes. Sparks flew from her face and hands. Both brothers, guns still aimed, took a step back. Jillian looked Dean in the eyes. He felt the cold evil that radiated out of Jillian's soul and realized that he had made a mistake in pissing her off. She continued to glare at him, letting him see just how much evil she was truly capable of. Then the girl looked up and slowly smiled, an evil, knowing smile. She briefly looked at Sam and then stared back at Dean, the malicious smile still on her face as she curled her hand and a torrent of sparks flew out. Dean felt the chill go through his soul as he stared into her ghostly eyes. Jillian's soul was evil, pure concentrated evil. Never in his history could Dean remember facing something so pure, and he had face a lot of badass evil things. But with her; there was nothing else there, just the evil.

The ghost slowly circled around the brothers, hand still sparking, lips still curled into a wicked grin. She stopped her orbit when she was directly in front of Sam. Not waiting to see her intent, Dean fired a bullet through her heart and then another through her head. Nothing happened. Jillian didn't even turn to face him, her eyes remained focused on Sam. Sam involuntarily took a step back in fear and Dean immediately side stepped in front of him, putting himself between Sam and the ghost. Seeing the obstacle in her way, Jillian's sadistic grin left her face as she stared at Dean. The stare lasted no more than 5 seconds and then she was gone.

Dean lowered his gun and looked around frantically for the ghost. Sam did the same and stepped backwards into Dean when he found that Jillian had rematerialized no less than a foot behind him. Her smile back on, Jillian held her sparking hands up and lunged forward at Sam. Trapped between Dean and the ghost, Sam had no place to go.

Feeling his brother bump into him, Dean turned just in time to see Jillian take her lunge. With no time to act, both brothers watched as Jillian lunged up and then surprisingly, fell back down. Looking halfway confused and halfway annoyed, Jillian once again tried to launch herself at Sam. The brothers stared in mystification as they watched Jillian's hand sparking soul launch itself upwards while streaks of white light from underneath her seemed to ground her to the floor. Once again, Jillian's launch was cut short and the angered ghost found herself on the floor.

Although curious about what he had just seen, Dean didn't wait to find out why the ghost couldn't attack. Grabbing his brother by the arm, Dean began running- away from Rt. 20 and back towards the town. Sam ran after him. After 5 minutes of running, the brothers cautiously paused to catch their breath.

Hands on his knees and still gasping, Sam turned to Dean, "What…the hell…"

Dean interrupted him with a shake of his head. "Not here." Then he grabbed his brother's arm again and took off at in a run for the motel.

Upon entering the room, Sam once again bent over to catch his breath. Not taking any chances, Dean ran to his bag and pulled out the salt. With amazing speed he had the entire border of the room salted.

His breathing now regulated, Sam looked up, "Dean, salt doesn't work on her."

"Shut up Sam." He didn't want to hear it. Dean had no idea what Jillian had planned or why it didn't work, but her message had been clear. She had delivered it to Dean through her eyes. He had pissed her off and she had planned to take her revenge out on Sam. Dean kicked his rollaway bed repeatedly. One of the wheels flew off and slammed into the wall. His frustration alleviated, Dean sat down on Sam's bed, with his head in his hands.

Sam looked over at his brother, "Dean. What the hell happened back there? Something was stopping her from attacking."

Dean shook his head, "I don't know Sam. I don't even know if that was Jillian doing the attacking." He turned to his brother, "I know my sixth sense isn't yours, but when she looked at me." Dean shuddered, "That was pure evil, man. There was no soul there. It was like looking into a black hole of uncontaminated evil."

Sam nodded, "I know, I felt it too. But I'm telling you Dean, there's something good there too, behind the evil. Two separate entities. I think that's what held her back."

Dean stood up, "So was the evil the demon or Jillian's soul?"

Sam shrugged as he sat on his bed, laptop in hand, "I guess it was the demon. Right? I mean, the demon wouldn't be good."

Dean walked over and looked out the window to make sure that Jillian hadn't followed them. Upon seeing nothing, he turned back to Sam and stared at him.

Sam became self-conscious under his brother's gaze, "What?"

Dean sighed and broke the stare, "You're sure it was good that you felt. Not just some other evil that happened to disagree with her about frying you?"

Sam considered the question before answering, "I…I'm not sure. But I know there was some good, man. Definitely."

Dean shook his head and looked back out the window, "I would have sworn that I was looking at Jillian's soul."

Sam had no answer for his brother. The run had taken too much out of him. He had sneaked some aspirin while his brother had been kicking the rollaway, but he still felt like shit. He had been planning on asking Dean to check out his back, but the question had gone unasked due to Jillian's appearance. After the run in with the ghost, Sam was once again unsure if he should take the risk of letting Dean know that he was still sick. The ghost was dangerous- and evil, extremely evil. They had been lucky so far, but Sam knew that it wasn't going to last. His mind once again made up, Sam began searching the internet for the demonic symbols. Dean wasn't going to battle this ghost alone.

Seeing his brother begin the internet search, Dean began scouring the list of his father's contacts for potential sources of information. There was one large problem though- he couldn't see the names on the contacts page. Yesterday he had had a similar problem, but he avoided the issue by calling contacts whose numbers he knew. Having already called those people, Dean was now left to try to figure out what the names in front of him were and more importantly, what the numbers were. Up to this point, Dean felt that he had done a pretty good job of hiding the severity of his eye condition from his brother. Even in the Maida house, when he had found the entry in his father's journal that matched the symbols on Jillian's floor. The matching symbols that his father had drawn were the only things that he could make out on the page. Had his brother not said aloud that they were meant to invoke a demon, he would have had no idea what their purpose was.

Dean exhaled in frustration as he sat looking at the blurry lines that were the names and numbers of his father's contacts. There was no getting around this. He was going to need Sam's help to read the numbers, which meant giving Sam an indication that all was not well. He had hesitated asking Sam up to this point because, well, he hated showing any weakness in front of anyone, his brother included. Also, he knew that it would send Sam into a worried state and he needed Sam thinking that he could handle the ghost on his own if need be. Even if the reality was that he couldn't. Dean knew that Sam was still recovering and eyesight or no eyesight, it was still his job to protect Sammy.

Dean rested his head on his hands. He was nervous, scared even. Eyesight was a big factor and although fine print was what seemed to be giving him the most issue, the fact that his eyesight had been compromised at all made him worry about how well he could protect his brother. He knew at this point that if Sam wasn't able to hunt, he'd have to hold off. Going after that amount of evil on his own while injured was suicide…and while he may have been impatient, Dean was not suicidal. Still if Sam was able to hunt, Dean wasn't about to let him go off on his own. As mentioned, eyesight or no eyesight, it was still his job to protect Sammy.

Recognizing that he couldn't put it off any longer, Dean picked up the page to bring it to his brother for help. However, when Dean turned around, he saw his brother asleep on the bed, laptop in hand. No longer having the care or energy to curse, Dean walked over and took the laptop from his brother. He tapped Sam on the shoulder, "Sammy."

Sam moaned and leaned away from the tap. Dean grabbed his brother's legs and slid him down so that he was laying flat on the bed. Almost immediately, Sam rolled onto his side, away from Dean and moaned again. With a now habitual motion, Dean felt Sam's head and instantly pulled it back annoyed by the heat. He put the thermometer from last night in his brother's ear and lifted his brother's shirt to look at the wound. Already from underneath the bandage he could see the red skin that signified that the infection was still there. Taking the thermometer out, Dean found a renewed energy to curse; Sam's temperature was 103.8.

He glared down at his brother, "You lying son of a bitch. Sure you're fine."

Rolling Sam onto his stomach, Dean pulled out the first aide kit to clean and redress his brother's wound. He let out a steady stream of curses aimed at his brother as he worked. After finishing, Dean refilled the ice bucket and began placing more towels of ice around his brother. "You lying bastard. When you wake up. You and I are gonna have a long talk about what a deceitful piece of shit you are. And I swear to God Sam, if I have to call that doctor again, I'm gonna kick your ass so hard you'll be crying for a week. That time in Milwaukee will be nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you." Unaware of his brother's feelings, Sam slept through all of Dean's ministrations and cursing.

Still fuming, Dean left a note for his brother (more consideration than Sam had shown him that morning) and went to the pharmacy to buy Tylenol. He brought the contacts page with him. Presumably, someone in the pharmacy would be able to read him the names and numbers, which he could write down in a larger, more legible form. Once again Dean found himself cursing out his brother when he remembered that his brother had decided not to 'waste money' on the Tylenol because 'he didn't have a fever anymore'. He balled up his fists and kicked the dirt in front of him. His brother was seriously a pain in the ass. It sometimes made Dean question why he wanted Sammy around. Of course the answer was that not having Sammy around felt far worse, but still, sometimes Sam was the most inconsiderate, selfish, moron that he had ever known.

After leaving the pharmacy with a box of Tylenol and a page of contacts that he could read, Dean hurried back to the motel room. Despite his anger at his brother, he didn't want to leave Sam alone for too long. The incident with the possessed ghost had disturbed him more than he was willing to admit. What was even more frustrating was that he realized that he wouldn't be able to go after the little bitch for at least a few days.

Opening the door to the room, Dean checked the bed to find Sam still sleeping peacefully. Sitting on the rollaway, he resumed his thoughts. Looking back on this morning, he admitted to himself that there were signs that Sam was still sick. Common sense should have told him that. Sam had a fever of over 104 yesterday, that high of a fever wouldn't go down in the course of a night. He had ignored the signs of fever because, in truth, he knew he couldn't go on the hunt alone. Not with his eyes being the way they were. So he let himself believe Sam, even though he knew he was lying (although he had not been aware of just how much Sam had been lying) just because he hadn't wanted to wait. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth the risk to his brother's life, or even his own. Not over some random evil ghost that hadn't committed one harmful act in fifteen years; not until they got there anyway. Dean paused. That was weird. Why would something so evil not do anything malicious in fifteen years? And why was she acting up now?

Thoughts of Sam aside, Dean resumed his research. If he couldn't go on the hunt for a few days, at the very least he could figure out what the hell was going on. He picked up the phone and began calling the contacts.

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_More to come tomorrow...as always please review and let me know if you liked it or not..._


	8. Chapter 8: Sharing

_So, I screwed up yesterday and posted two chapters as one. So yeah- yesterday's post was actually supposed to be Chapter 7: the House and today was supposed to be Chapter 8: Lies and Deceit, but now they're all one. Oh well…_

_This chapter is another of my favorites (chapter 4 is the other one). Hopefully you all will enjoy it as well…_

_Many many thanks to the wonderful people who give me reviews. Your support means the world to me. I get so excited when I see a 'bot' e-mail in my inbox! And hopefully this chapter will make you all feel a bit better about Dean and his 'tude- or then again, maybe it won't…_

_And for my no-reply peeps: Black Roses and LRP: Yeah- Jillian's quite the creepy little ghost and there's always more angst to come...Thanks for your reviews!  
_

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Chapter 8: Sharing

Sam slept through the rest of the afternoon and then the night. He was unaware of every time Dean changed the ice in the towels or monitored his temperature. He had no memory of Dean waking him up to get him to take two Tylenol and his antibiotic. The first bit of awareness Sam had was waking up the next morning. His back was still throbbing and his head hurt, the kind of headache a person gets when they've slept for too long. Looking at the clock he saw that it was 9 am and based on the sounds of the water running, Dean was in the shower.

Sam tried to remember when he had fallen asleep. He could remember sitting down on the bed to do research- and then nothing. Looking around again, Sam noticed the packs of ice on his bed. Briefly, he thought that it was yesterday and he had merely dreamed the trip to the Maida house, but soon reality dawned and he knew that wasn't possible. Therefore, if it today wasn't yesterday, and that meant- shit. Sam sat up and held his head in his hands as he realized that Dean now knew he was still sick.

He had just begun thinking of ways to convince his brother that he was well enough to come on the hunt, when Dean exited the shower. He looked over at Sam momentarily and then fished through his bag for clothes.

Sam smiled sheepishly, trying to play his illness off with a joke, "So, uh, what'd I miss?"

Dean looked up again, "You and I are not on speaking terms." Finding his clothes, Dean returned to the bathroom to change.

When he came out again, Sam tried a change of subject, "Did you get anything from any of dad's contacts?"

Dean ignored him and walked out the door. Sam stared at the closed door. He racked his brain to try to determine why his brother was so angry. Dean hadn't seemed angry when Sam had sat down to do research, which meant that whatever had happened, had happened after that. The problem was that Sam had no memory of what had happened after that. Recognizing that he was getting nowhere, Sam grabbed some clean clothes and went to take a shower. When he came out, Dean was back, sitting on the rollaway, eating sausage and eggs while sipping his coffee. Sam looked over and saw coffee, sausage and eggs, and his antibiotic laid out for him on his bed.

Taking the food as a sign of peace, Sam began again, "So what's our plan for today?"

With that comment, Dean immediately stood up, coffee in hand, walked past Sam and out the door. The power with which the door was slammed shut shook the walls.

"Okay." Still having no idea as to what was bothering his brother, Sam sat down and ate his breakfast. When he had finished, Dean still hadn't returned. Sam began to wonder if Dean had gone to investigate something hunt related. Not wanting his brother out there hunting alone, Sam put his gun in his waistband, took two Tylenol, and walked out the door; not even thinking to wonder where the Tylenol had come from.

Once out the door, he almost immediately spotted Dean sitting on a rock outside the motel. He had long since finished his coffee and was absent-mindedly twirling the empty cup in his hand. Sam was surprised as he realized that Dean had been right outside the motel the entire time. Dean spotted Sam and without delay, began walking towards him. Sam went to greet his brother, but Dean grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards the room. Not having enough stability or awareness to fight, Sam allowed himself to be dragged back to the room.

Once at the room, Dean opened the door and literally threw Sam in. Then he slammed the door shut again and walked back to his rock.

Inside the room, Sam stared at the door with obvious confusion. Dean usually expressed his anger in more of a "curse 'em out" and "beat 'em up" kind of way. Prolonged shunning was not Dean's style at all. Not unless he was SO mad that he couldn't find the words to curse the person out. Still, even if the words couldn't be found, he'd still manage to kick their ass. Like that time when Sam was 16 and they were living in Milwaukee. Six years later, Sam couldn't fully remember what he had said to piss Dean off, only that it involved the phrase, "I hope dad never comes back from this hunt." At the time he was a rebellious teen and frequently said things that he really didn't mean, and often, he got away with it. On that particular occasion however, he pushed his brother beyond his breaking point into a full rage. Dean hadn't spoken one word as he pounded Sam only stopping when Sam no longer had the strength to put his arms up in defense. Nothing had been broken, only bruised, and Dean had helped patch him up afterwards, but Sam would never forget what it was like to be on the receiving end of his brother's anger. Ironically, he remembered feeling safer after that incident, not truly realizing how strong Dean was before that, and being extremely grateful that his brother was on his side.

But now, once again, Sam found himself on the receiving end of his brother's anger, albeit in a different form. Having also inherited the same stubbornness as his brother, Sam threw open the door and walked back out to talk with Dean. He would do this all day if he had to, but Dean was going to talk to him.

Dean looked up from his rock and grumbling a curse, once again stalked towards Sam. Knowing what was coming this time, Sam kept far enough away so that his brother couldn't grab him.

Seeing that he couldn't drag Sam back, Dean broke his silence, "Damn it Sam! What the hell is your problem!"

Sam gave his brother a look of disbelief, "What's _my _problem? You're the one who's taken a vow of silence. I don't even know what the hell I did to piss you off!"

Dean fought his desire to hit his brother, "Gee Sam. I don't know why I'm so mad. Maybe it's because you're a freakin' liar!"

Sam was taken aback, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean shook his head in disbelief over his brother's feigned ignorance, "I asked you if you were okay yesterday. You told me, repeatedly, that you were fine. That your fever was gone; there was no pain anywhere. Next thing I know- you're passed out on the bed with a fever of almost 104. Now you look at my face and you tell me that you felt fine yesterday and you didn't lie to me."

Sam looked at his brother, but said nothing. Dean was right; Sam had lied, but somehow, he hadn't expected his brother to be so upset by it. He pointed out the positive, "Look Dean, everything worked out okay yesterday. We searched the house and confronted the ghost and we're no worse off. Let's just…"

Dean cut him off, grabbing him by his collar and pushing him against the motel wall, "This isn't just going to slip by Sam. You lied to me. About your health! What would've happened if you passed out while we were facing down the ghost, huh? You're too damn big for me to carry."

Sam tried to interrupt, but Dean released him and cut him off. In a saddened whisper, Dean finished his thoughts, "You're such a selfish prick. You never think of anyone but yourself and I'm sick of it Sam. You wanted to come on the hunt so you lied to my face. You never thought about how you could watch my ass with a fever of 104."

Stung by his brother's words, Sam fought back, "It'd be no worse than you going off by yourself."

Dean interrupted, "Yeah it would. Because then I wouldn't have to worry about your sorry ass. I'd only have to worry about myself. God. You lied to my freakin' face, man! How the hell am I ever supposed to trust you!"

Sam tried again, "I didn't mean to lie to you Dean. I just…"

Once again Dean cut him off, "Save it, man." Dean shook his head, disappointment filling his eyes, "I thought you I could trust you Sammy. But I should've known. I mean how many years did you lie to Jessica?"

It was harsh, but he was filled with a complicated rage spawned by his brother's deceit and his own helplessness. If Sammy had collapsed during the hunt, they'd probably both be dead right now. This couldn't happen again. Sam needed to know how truly hurt, frustrated, and angry Dean felt.

Tears in his eyes, Sam just stared at his brother's retreating back. A shock had radiated through his body when he was hit by Dean's words. His limbs were left tingling, the remains of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Defeated, Sam turned and felt his way down the wall of the motel and into the room.

Both brothers sat in their respective sanctuaries, Sam on his bed and Dean on his rock. Both were lost in their own thoughts, trying to regulate their emotions. Their anger now vanished- they were left hollow. Pain and guilt filling the void that had been left by the rage.

Sam couldn't understand why his brother was so upset. The comment about Jessica…Dean had crossed a huge line. But Sam knew his brother, and knew that his brother knew him. Dean would have known how much pain and guilt that comment would have brought up. For Dean to want to hurt him that badly, it just didn't make sense. Sam hadn't done anything Dean hadn't done in the past himself. It was common for either one of them to play down their injuries in order to be included in a hunt. Sam just couldn't understand what made this time different. The pounding in his head grew and Sam laid back on the bed. This town sucked.

Just as Sam began to drift off, he heard the door open. Looking up, he watched Dean walk into the room, head down. His brother looked drained. From his position on the bed, Sam saw Dean look at him, a sad look on his face. Dean spoke to him quietly, "I'm sorry Sammy. I crossed a line. I shouldn't have involved Jessica."

Sam snorted, tears refilling his eyes at her name, "Why not? We both know it was the truth. I did lie to her. Every day that I was with her I lied to her." He closed his eyes and the tears fell.

Silence filled the room. Dean remained at the door. Finally Dean broke the silence with a whisper, "I was scared Sam."

Startled by his brother's confession, Sam sat himself up and looked at Dean. He held his breath waiting for Dean to say more. When nothing happened, Sam prompted him, "Of what?"

Dean kept his head down and his voice quiet, but Sam could see that he was crying. "You're not getting better. I don't know what to do anymore. We're trapped in this town…for the first time since I was like twelve, I don't understand what we're dealing with. I can't read anything to do research because I can't see, and you…you just keep getting sicker and I don't know how to stop it." The tears still spilling from his eyes, Dean cautiously looked up. Fearing a look of disappointment or pity, he was relieved to see that his brother only looked interested and concerned.

Sam said nothing in fear of causing his brother to shut down. He watched, silently urging his brother to continue, as Dean walked towards his bed and sat down beside him.

Dean leaned forward next to Sam, his forearms on his knees. He stared at the door as he continued, "I just want this week to be over with. I want the Impala fixed and I want to get the hell out of here." He shook his head, "I don't even care about the hunt. I just can't do this anymore."

Sam sat back; that explained it. He could honestly say that he saw it coming. He knew that Dean had too much on his plate. That was why he had tried to change the room and why he had lied to his brother to come on the hunt- to make his brother's life a little easier. He didn't want Dean to handle everything on his own. They were in this together.

Cautiously, Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder, "Dean." Dean didn't look up, but Sam continued, "I know that I'm sick, but I'm not five anymore. You don't have to take on everything by yourself. I'm here, man. Please. Let me help you. Share some of the responsibility."

Dean laughed through his tears, still looking at the door, "I don't think I know how."

Sam squeezed his shoulder, "Well, you can start by letting me handle the research on the ghost."

Dean wiped his eyes and sat up looking at his brother. "I need to trust you, man. I need you to tell me if you're not feeling well."

Sam sighed and looked away from his brother, "I was afraid that you'd go on the hunt without me and I knew that _you_ were lying about your eyes…I was just afraid that if you went alone…you wouldn't be coming back" Sam looked at Dean, "I'm sorry I lied to you."

A small amount of anger returning Dean stared at his brother, "I never lied about my eyes, Sam. I didn't go out of my way to share, but if you had asked me about them, I would have told you the truth."

Sam winced looking away, and Dean continued, "Look at me, man." Sam looked up and Dean put his hand on his shoulder, "You should have told me. I'm not suicidal, dude. I know my limits. I wouldn't have been happy about it, but I wouldn't have gone without you."

Ashamed at the fact that he hadn't trusted his brother to make the right decision, Sam once again looked down and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Dean moved his hand to the back of his brother's neck and squeezed. Then he slapped his brother on the back (avoiding the area with the infection). "Water under the bridge man, just don't let it happen again."

Sam looked up and nodded.

Dean smiled, "So, since you've volunteered to be the designated researcher…" Dean handed Sam his laptop, "We need to know what those other symbols mean and what our little friend invoked."

Sam nodded and took the laptop; he immediately began typing.

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A half hour later, Sam called his brother over, "Hey Dean? Come look at this."

Dean walked over and tried to look at whatever his brother was showing him on the screen. He squinted, but once again, the only things that he was able to make out were the symbols. He turned to Sam, "I can't see it. What's it say?"

Sam sighed, "Have you been using the eyedrops?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yes Sam, I've been using the eyedrops." Then he pushed his brother's shoulder, "Now come on man, what's it say?"

Sam summarized the information for his brother, "The other symbols were demon and protection calls. I put it all together and essentially, it looks like Jillian was trying to invoke a demon to protect her from something."

Dean laughed, "Yeah. 'Cause demons are known for going out of their way to protect little girls."

"I think the more important question is, who or what did she need protection from?"

Dean's cell phone rang, interrupting the brother's discussion. He looked at the caller id and announced to his brother, "It's Mr. Tennell. I called him last night to see if he had any info that could help us."

Sam recognized the name as one of their father's friends, "Gideon Tennell?"

Dean nodded and answered the phone. He held the phone out so that Sam could also hear. "Dean. I got your message last night. I gotta be straight wit chu man, I only heard a one case where a demon got itself bound to someone and that was some nasty shit. I ain't never heard of a demon being bound to no ghost."

Dean nodded, "How does it happen?"

"What? Demon binding? Heh. Far as I know, it'd take a room full of hard core, experienced, Satanists to bring on that level of crap. I mean, a demon ain't gonna let itself be bound to nothing. It'd take a bunch a pretty powerful worshippers to get that shit goin'. I ain't got no idea how someone'd bind a demon to a ghost though. I guess they'd have ta do it after the person was already dead, but I ain't got no clue how ya bind a demon to a spirit."

Sam ventured a question, "Mr. Tennell, would it be possible for a young girl, a devil worshipper, to bind a demon to herself or invoke a demon and then die and still have the demon attached to her soul."

"Sammy that you? Damn boy! Last time I seen you, you was a round ass twelve-year-old." Dean laughed and mouthed 'swedish fish' to Sam. Sam rolled his eyes as Gideon continued, "Now you soundin' like a man."

Dean interrupted, "Nah. He's still got some work to do in that area."

Sam elbowed his brother in the stomach. Dean, still laughing, doubled over from the from his brother's jab.

On the phone, Gideon Tennell also laughed, "Aiight. For your question though, no. Ain't no way. Man, first thing, a demon binding and a invocation are totally different things, yo. It's a hell of a lot easier to invoke a demon than ta bind one. Demon's _want_ ta possess people, gives 'em power when they is in corporeal form. Demons ain't likin' it when they's bound. 'Cause then they's trapped. And yo, either way, if a demon is invoked or bound ta a body, the body ain't gonna die. Not by normal means anyway. I mean, aiight. I suppose it'd die if it was a minion level demon, but those ain't the kind that get invoked. The minions, they already up here. When people invoke a demon, they's invokin' it straight out of hell and those mofos are full-fledged demons. You boys know what they's like, you've been hunting one of them ya whole lives."

Dean shook his head in frustration, "Well, this whole damn thing just makes no sense then."

"Dean man, deal me the story from the beginnin' yo and I'll try to help ya'll out wit it."

Dean explained everything he knew to his father's old friend as the man on the other end of the phone listened intently. When Dean had finished, he was silent for a moment, then he spoke, "Dean, when you felt the evil…you said you was sure it was the girl's soul that you was lookin' at? Not a demon, right?"

Dean agreed, "Yeah, but it couldn't have been. Sam said that he saw good…a separate entity underneath the evil…and the good couldn't have been the demon so the demon must have been what I felt."

Mr. Tennell laughed, "You boys got good instincts. The reason ain't none of this makin' sense to you is 'cause ya'll got it in your heads that you dealin' with a demon. You ain't. What ya'll got on your hands is a ridiculously evil ghost with a benevolent unnamed spirit bound ta her."

Surprised, the brother's sat back. Sam spoke up, "Are you sure?"

"No Sammy, I ain't sure, but that's sure as hell what it sounds like. I'm guessin' that the benevolent spirit was possessin' the girl at night and she be invokin' a demon ta protect herself from the thing."

Dean scratched his forehead, "But if the thing that's bound to her is a benevolent spirit, then what the hell happened to the demon she invoked?"

Gideon Tennell answered, "I ain't got no clue, but I'm guessin' that it ain't in her right now. Yo man, either it never made it into the body or the buildin' was too cramped. All them spirits livin' in one body, there probably wasn't no room for it. You boys need to call Father Guiseppe."

Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged, "Who?"

Gideon explained, "Father Guiseppe. 208-555-8993. He's the only man I know that's got the scoop on benevolent spirits. Ya know, in our line of work, they ain't exactly hittin' the radar too often. Man, in my thirty some 'aht years of huntin' I don't think I've ever crossed paths with any unnamed spirits, benevolent or anyways."

Dean nodded, "Ok, thanks Mr. Tennell. You've been a lot of help man. We'll give this guy a call."

"Yeah, ain't no problem Dean and you take care a yaself there Sammy."

Sam smiled, "You too Mr. Tennell, bye."

Ending the call, Dean turned to his brother, "A freakin' benevolent spirit. Well, how the hell were we supposed to come up with that?"

Sam considered the new information and then raised his eyebrows, "How could a girl so young be so evil?"

Dean gave a jaded laugh, "Age has nothing to do with it Sammy. Some people are just born evil."

Disenchanted, Sam laid back on his bed and rubbed his face with his hands. Removing his hands from his face he noticed Dean looking at him. Sam nodded at the phone, "You gonna call Father Guiseppe?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah. Do you want me to wait until you wake up?"

Sam sighed, "I'm not asleep Dean."

Dean nodded again, "But you will be, you look like you're about to keel over. You want me to wait?"

Rolling onto his side, Sam shook his head, "No. You can fill me in." Then he looked at his over-stressed brother, "Unless you want me to hear it with you. I mean, I said I'd take over the research for you."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Don't worry about it Sammy. As long as Fr. Guiseppe doesn't send all his information in a text message or e-mail, I should be ok." He tapped Sam's leg, "Hey. You really want to help me out?"

Sam nodded, looking at his brother.

"Lose the fever."

Sam smiled and rubbed his eyes, "I'm working on it."

Dean smiled back, "Go to sleep." Then he threw the phone up in the air and caught it again. He pointed to the door, "I gotta go make a phone call."

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_As always review and let me know if you liked it, hated it, etc..._


	9. Chapter 9: Turning Point

_Over 100 reviews! Yay! I'm so excited! You guys rock my world! Yay! Thank you all so much for taking the time to review and let me know what you think of the story. This whole experience would not be nearly as much fun without your support!_

_Black Roses- Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked it! Dean will be blurry for quite some time...  
_

_Ok, so, this chapter (and pretty much the remainder of the story) has some religiousness in it. I did my best to keep to the show. The only episode where they seem to even remotely address the boys' religious beliefs is 'Faith'. And in the episode, they're pretty vague. So I did my best to do likewise and keep it pretty vague in the story, but I had to go there because that's where the plot went. So I apologize if it turns anyone off – like I said, I needed to address it for the sake of the plot._

_This chapter is almost strictly plot development...so it's not the most exciting, but it's setting up for the exciting finale which will be coming in just a few more chapters..._

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**Chapter 9: Turning Point  
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Dean had been standing outside the motel room on the phone now, for what he felt had to have at least been an hour. The priest had seemed willing to help him, but insisted that Dean tell him everything that had transpired in the past week, down to the most disgustingly minute detail. Dean must have tried over ten different times to interrupt his own story to ask the priest questions, but the priest just kept repeating, "Please, I need to understand everything before I can help you, son." Dean just didn't know what was left to understand. What did it matter what color the girl's dress was or whether or not her hair was up or whether her coffin had a satin liner? How could it possibly be that those things would make a difference? Finally, after Dean had answered the priest's question regarding approximately how many inches Jillian had been able to jump off the floor, Father Guiseppe became silent.

"Father? I don't mean to rush you or anything, but I'd really like to know if I'm dealing with an unnamed spirit here."

Over the phone, the priest laughed, "Oh, son, I'm not going to be able to tell you that. The best I can do is to tell you what I know about unnamed spirits. You're going to need to decide for yourself, what you're dealing with."

Dean pinched his nose in frustration, if the priest couldn't tell him what he was dealing with, then what was with the interrogation? He shook his head, "Ok, well, what can you tell me Father?"

The priest sighed, "How much do you know about unnamed spirits?"

Dean shrugged, "Not much. Just that they can possess people and they're usually not malevolent."

"Okay. 'Unnamed spirits' is essentially a category for any spirit that is not a ghost or a demon. A ghost is any spirit that once had a living body and existed on the Earth. A demon, well, what a demon is said to be would depend on your religion or what you believe, but categorically speaking, a demon is a spirit that comes from Hell. Unnamed spirits are anything else. Within 'unnamed spirits' there are lots of different types of spirits. Some are bad, some neutral, and others are good. Unnamed spirits _can_ be malevolent, but being as they aren't from Hell, their malevolency is not near the level of a demon's. But you're asking me today about benevolent spirits."

Interested in the priest's knowledge, Dean agreed, "Yeah."

Fr. Guiseppe continued, "This is going to be another one of those things, where I think it depends on what your theological point of view is. I'm coming from a Catholic perspective, but benevolent spirits are included in almost every religion or belief system throughout the world. In Catholicism, they're usually considered to be angels. In other monotheistic religions, they're thought about in a more vague sense, simply as a gift from God."

Dean shook his head in disbelief, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're trying to tell me that we're dealing with an angel!"

The priest sighed, "I honestly don't know what you're dealing with. As I told you, only you can decide that. The other thing I said was, that I'm speaking from a Catholic perspective; I'm a priest. Whether you consider a benevolent spirit to be an angel, or any spirit coming from God or just a spirit that was born out of good rather than evil, it doesn't matter. It's all the same thing."

Dean relaxed, "Okay Father. Go on."

"As far as possession goes, benevolent spirits usually don't engage in the kind of possession you hunters are used to. You deal with demonic possession, in which the demon pushes a soul aside and takes control over the body. Benevolent spirits, normally don't push souls aside or take over. They're more than powerful enough to, but as a practice, they don't take free will away from the soul. So, when a benevolent spirit possesses someone, it is usually when they aren't conscious or if the person has specifically asked for a temporary possession. For instance if someone were in the midst of a tragedy and they asked God for strength, a spirit might take over the body during the tragedy, to get them through it. But it would only be for a temporary time, and only as an answer to a request."

Dean thought about what the priest had said, "You said they can take over when the person isn't conscious?"

The priest explained, "They might take over a person's dreams; to get a message across."

Dean became excited, "Could one have taken over Jillian's body to make her sleepwalk?"

"I suppose. But I am fairly certain that no benevolent spirit would walk a person in front of a vehicle. There purpose is to save people, help them. They do not kill."

Dean was disappointed, it had been sounding more and more like Jillian had been possessed by a benevolent spirit, but her death was unexplainable.

Hearing Dean's silence, Father Guiseppe spoke up, "That's not to say that the spirit would have known about whatever killed her. The spirit wouldn't have had any control over when that girl was supposed to die. If it was her time, then whether she was possessed or not would make no difference."

Hope lifted, Dean continued his questions, "If she was possessed when she died, would it be possible that the spirit got trapped to her soul?"

"No, but if she chose to remain on the Earth as a ghost, the spirit might have purposely bound itself to her soul. If she is truly as evil as you say she is, which I need to say, I'm having a hard time with. I've always believed that no matter what the person has done, there is always some good in a person's soul. If that girl really was born, pure evil…well, I'll be praying a lot over this."

Dean tried to bring the priest back on track, "You were saying something about the spirit binding itself to the ghost..."

Father Guiseppe came back from the tangent, "Right. Well, many of us believe that benevolent spirits are assigned a mission. If the mission was to stop the child from whatever evil she was destined for, the spirit would have done whatever it needed to to accomplish the mission. There's one more thing, in my experience, benevolent spirits are only assigned a mission in response to a prayer. If that girl was truly evil, then there must have been others praying for her."

Dean laughed, "From what I've seen, she probably had the whole town praying for her."

The priest concluded, "Dean, son, I know it sounds like this could be a benevolent spirit. But that may not be the case, don't let your guard down. There are demons out there that could mimic a benevolent spirit."

Dean shook his head, "Wait. Why would a demon mimic a good spirit?"

"To make you trust it. If it's a demon bound to that ghost, then it only has one chance to be freed to roam the Earth and that's if it laid low and got hunters like you and your brother to destroy the ghost without first dealing with the demon. If the ghost is destroyed first, then the demon would be freed and could find a new victim. To destroy the demon, you would have to send the demon back to Hell first, and then deal with the ghost. The demon might be laying low, or acting like a benevolent spirit in the hopes that it could fool you and you will inadvertently release it."

Dean was overwhelmed with this new information, "Well what if we just do an exorcism first?"

Father Guiseppe was quiet for a moment, and then he spoke, "It's not an exorcism; there's no body to expel the demon from. You would have to unbind the demon from the soul, and complete a ritual to send the demon back to Hell. You could trap the demon during the ritual, but not the ghost. If she's as evil as you say she is, she could reek as much havoc as any demon could and then flee the town all in the amount of time it took you to send the demon back to Hell. And if it truly is a benevolent spirit, you will have released her for no reason."

Dean sighed, he felt like hitting his head against the wall. This had to be the most confusing hunt that he had ever been on. There seemed to be no right answer. He had one final question for the priest, "Father, is there any way that we could find out whether we're dealing with a benevolent spirit or a demon? Is there some kind of test?"

Father Guiseppe laughed, "There's only one way to know for sure. Pray for the answer. It'll be given to you." Then he added, "Give me a call if you ever need anything else." And with that, Father Guiseppe hung up the phone.

Dean stared at the phone. Somehow, that conversation was not nearly as helpful as he had hoped it would be. He had gained a lot of information, and Father Guiseppe seemed to really know his stuff, but in the end, they still didn't know what they were dealing with. Helplessly frustrated, Dean shook his head, incredulous, "Pray for the answer. Great."

Walking back into the room, Dean once again put the thermometer in his brother's ear to monitor his temperature. While he waited for the reading, he thought over what Mr. Tennell and Father Guiseppe had said. Gideon had seemed fairly certain that they were dealing with an evil ghost and a benevolent spirit, and Father Guiseppe's information seemed to support that theory. But Father Guiseppe's warning, to be positive about what they were dealing with before inadvertently letting a demon loose upon the world, had stuck with him. The priest was right; somehow, they had to be sure.

The thermometer dinged and Dean was relieved to see that Sam's fever had gone down since yesterday. However, Sam still had a low-grade fever, and that was with the Tylenol.

Dean sat down on the rollaway. He had been feeling better, as though things were beginning to be less out of control. Although he refused to admit it, letting Sam know how overwhelmed and scared he was had helped a lot. A part of him was still embarrassed and another part of him felt as though he had done something wrong by getting support from his brother, but the truth was that he needed it. When they were younger, they had their roles. Dean never went to his brother for support. He hadn't needed to; his dad was there. There was someone to fall back on; someone who had even more responsibility than Dean did. Now that it was just him and Sam, it was harder. Dean knew that things would have to change. He couldn't be the indestructible older brother for Sam any more. There was no one there anymore to prop him back up when Sam wasn't looking. He'd have to lean on Sam at least a little bit, or risk self-destructing.

Twenty-two years of living in their respective roles, made those roles difficult to change, but Dean remembered the look on his brother's face during his little breakdown this morning. Sam hadn't seemed disappointed that his brother wasn't an indestructible force. In fact, Sam had seemed more than willing to offer his support. Determined, Dean nodded to himself, if Sam was willing to pick up some of the responsibility, then Dean would try to share.

Dean laid back and rubbed his face with his hands. Now that he had over-analyzed his role in life…God, he needed to go find a town with a bar, beautiful women, and some bikers to beat the shit out of; sick Sammy was beginning to rub off on him. Sick Sammy…even with Sam being willing to share some of the stress, their situation still royally sucked. Sam's weeklong fever laid more heavily on Dean than anything and neither of them had any control over that. Dean looked up at the ceiling, "You know, we really could use a hand down here. At the very least, you could stop with the fever already."

Dean laughed at himself. He hadn't truly believed that he was talking to a higher power, but just in case there was something out there, it couldn't hurt to ask.

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Sam awoke around 5 pm. He looked around stretching. Seeing Dean nowhere in the room, he walked over to the door and looked out. Dean didn't seem to be there either. Casually wondering where his brother had gone, Sam yawned and rubbed his face. "What the?" Feeling something on his forehead, Sam pulled at it and found himself staring at a post-it note that had been stuck to his head. "Nice Dean."

The note informed him that Dean had gone to get dinner and would be back by 6 pm. Unable to do more research without knowing what other information his brother had found, Sam decided to try to help his brother out another way. Picking up his phone, he called his friend Darren from Stanford.

On the third ring his old friend picked up and after a short round of catch up, in which Sam actively avoided the truth (Dean was right, he was good at lying), Sam asked for his favor. "Listen Darren, does your dad still own that classic car auto body shop?" After hearing an affirmative answer, Sam cleared his throat and continued, "I need a huge favor. Is there any way I could get a bumper and grill for a 1967 Chevy Impala sent to an auto body shop in Wyoming? "

There were several minutes of silence on the other end while Sam waited nervously for Darren to call his father. The wait was worth it though when Darren came back on the line and asked Sam what address he wanted the parts shipped to. Sam couldn't thank his friend enough. After hanging up, he called Ben, the owner of the local auto body shop and informed him of the expected shipment. The details all worked out, Sam turned on the TV hoping that this well-intentioned plan would turn out better for his brother, than the previous ones had.

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Dean entered the room carrying two bags of food, one in each hand. He threw one bag at his brother, along with a pill bottle, and then sat on the rollaway with the other bag. Sam thanked him and flipped off the TV. Dean turned to him, "You know there is not one single girl around our age in this town? I actually asked the woman who owns the diner and it's true."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Considering there's a population of about 15 people in this town, that's not really surprising, man."

Dean pulled out a burger looking disappointed. "It's still wrong," he muttered to himself. Then he turned to Sam, "How's the back?"

Sam pulled out his own burger and shrugged, "It feels ok and I think my fever's gone." He looked at Dean, "Honestly."

Dean nodded, unwilling to get his hopes up and still slightly wary of his brother's account of illness. The brothers ate the rest of the meal in silence. When he had finished, Dean leaned back on the rollaway, "So, I called the priest."

Sam turned interested, "And?"

Dean grinned, "And…if you thought this was a bitch to figure out before, it gets better."

Sam listened intently as Dean filled him in on his conversation with the priest. By the time he had finished, Sam was leaning against the headboard biting his nails. "So did you pray?"

Dean looked scandalized, "What! Dude. That's your response? 'Did you pray?' Sam, focus here. On reality. We need to find an actual way to determine whether the evil bitch is possessed by a demon or a benevolent spirit."

Sam smiled, "You mean an angel."

Dean rolled his eyes and got up to throw out the remains of his dinner. "Oh you're just living this shit up aren't you?" Sam laughed. Dean continued, "Fine. But just remember, you've volunteered to be in charge of this investigation, research boy. The praying's on you."

Sam smiled but said nothing. He was enjoying watching his brother get worked up. Finally, Sam let him off the hook, "So what do you want to do to test to see if it's a demon?"

Dean returned to his spot on the rollaway. "I've been thinking about it, but I'm not coming up with anything."

Sam shook his head in confusion, "Mr. Tennell said that it'd take a room full of experienced Satanists to bind a demon to a soul, and if they had done that, the girl wouldn't have died."

Dean shrugged, "Maybe…maybe that's only true for possession. Maybe the 'no death to the host' rules don't apply to bindings."

Sam thought for a moment. "It…It just feels right, you know? The benevolent spirit makes the most sense."

Dean didn't disagree, "I agree with you Sam, but we gotta be sure. We can't be responsible for turning a demon loose into the world."

The brothers sat in silence, trying to come up with a plan that would distinguish demon from benevolent spirit. After ten minutes of frustration, Dean looked for a brain break. He stood up, grabbed the first aide kit, and walked over to Sam. "Turn over. I want to checkyour back."

Sam sighed, pulled off his shirt and laid down on his stomach. He continued brainstorming possible ideas as his brother redressed the wound. His head turned away from Dean, he asked, "What about the salt? We poured salt on her and she didn't react. Demons can't cross salt lines."

Dean shook his head as he replaced the bandage. "It's not in corporeal form. There's nothing really certain about whether or not a demon can cross a salt line as a free spirit."

Sam sighed in defeat. When Dean had finished tending to his brother's back, Sam sat up and replaced his shirt. He turned around to lean back against the headboard and found Dean handing him a thermometer. He rolled his eyes and obediently put it in his ear. "I'm telling you it's down Dean."

Dean stood with his arms crossed, "Well, you'll excuse me for wanting proof this time."

The thermometer beeped and Sam looked at it before handing it back to Dean, a smug grin on his face. Dean read the thermometer, 98.6. Dean found himself staring at the digital read out, overwhelmed by how relieved he was that things seemed to be turning around. Realizing that Sam was still staring at him, he went to put the thermometer and first aide kit away. Dean hadn't forgotten the quick request that he had made at the ceiling earlier in the day. Still unsure, but not wanting to ignore it if it was divine intervention, Dean looked up at the ceiling a second time and nodded his thanks. Then he sat back down on the bed and looked at Sam. Sam looked back at him. "So, what are we going to do?"

Dean shrugged. "You can keep brainstorming," he grinned at Sam, "I'm handing over all the responsibility for coming up with a plan over to you."

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled, "and what will you be doing while I'm sitting here racking my brain?"

Dean smiled bigger and made his way to the door, "I'm going to go see how Ben's doing with my car." As Dean left, Sam picked up his laptop hoping the internet would have an answer to their problem.

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_ I hope you all are still enjoying the story…Review and let me know…_


	10. Chapter 10: The Answer

_Thanks once again for all your wonderful reviews! _

_Black Roses: Don't worry- there's still more angst to come, but Sam needs to move on from the fever…_

_So we are now, pretty much at the end. There are two more chapters after this one and the next chapter is one is one of the most quick paced, action packed, chapters in this story. Trust me- if you've hung on to the story for this long…the next chapter is not to be missed. _

_This chapter is once again mostly plot development and build up for the next chapter, although I did throw in some brotherly banter for fun. I hope you all enjoy!_

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It was 10 pm before Sam decided to officially give up the internet search. Three and a half hours of searching had gotten him nowhere. He checked the clock again wondering where his brother was. The sun had set approximately two hours ago and Dean had still not returned. Given the fact that there was a possessed ghost roaming the area and the fact that Dean was having difficulty seeing, Sam was beginning to get worried. Just as he began to consider leaving to go find his brother, he remembered that he had a cell phone. Quickly, he called Dean.

It was the fifth ring before Dean picked up, "Hey Sam, did you come up with anything yet?"

Sam ignored him, "Where the hell are you?"

Dean responded as though the answer was obvious, "Dude, I told you. I'm at the auto body shop."

Sam sounded irritated, "Dean, it's 10 o'clock at night. What the hell could you have been doing there for three hours?"

Once again, Dean treated the question as though it was ridiculous, "What the hell do you think I'm doing? It's an auto body shop, Sam. I'm fixing the car."

Sam was silent. Dean was right, he should have figured that one out. He had just assumed that the mechanic would be the one to fix the car, but he should have known that Dean would have wanted a hand in it as well, eyesight or no eyesight.

Dean interrupted his thoughts, "The mechanic here, Ben…Sam, the dude's awesome. Between the two of us, the car should be ready sometime tomorrow. I told Ben I'd come back here to help him finish it tomorrow. I figured we wouldn't want to do any hunting tomorrow anyway. You still need to rest. But if you don't have a fever tomorrow, and you feel okay, then we can finish the hunt the day after and then get the hell out of here."

Sam winced. Once again his plans to make Dean happy had blown up in his face. Dean was clearly eager to leave this town, and Sam couldn't blame him, but the Impala parts wouldn't get to Ben's shop until three days from now at the earliest. So once again, rather than helping Dean, Sam was causing him to do something that he didn't want to do- wait in the town.

"Sam. You still there?"

Disappointed, Sam shook himself out of his thoughts, "Uh, yeah."

Dean had picked up the change in his brother's mood, or perhaps it was the lack of enthusiasm Sam had shown regarding the good news that they could leave early, "You okay man?"

Sam tried to sound more cheerful, but it didn't work, "Yeah. I'm just tired. I…when do you plan to head back here?"

The sound of an auxillary drill could be heard in the background. "Well, we replaced all the valves, now we're installing the side windows. Tomorrow we're gonna do the hood and the windshield. The windows should take about an hour."

Sam rubbed his face. He really was tired, the week long fever had worn him out. He didn't want to sleep though, not until Dean was back. Otherwise, if Jillian decided to attack Dean on his way home, Sam wouldn't know something was wrong until he awoke the next day.

"Sam!"

Sam jumped, "Yeah."

"What the hell's wrong with you man? I feel like I'm talking to a wall."

Sam sighed, "Sorry. I'm tired."

Dean may not have been psychic, but apparently he understood Sam's dilemma, "Do you want me to leave now?"

Sam shook his head, "No. I'll wait up. I still need to figure out what to do about our angel/demon situation anyway. How's the upholstery by the way? Did the glass do a lot of damage?"

Dean sounded uncomfortable, "We haven't gotten to the upholstery yet. We're just doing the exterior."

Sam was surprised, "Well, you've seen it haven't you? How's it look?"

Dean snapped back, "No, Sam. I haven't seen it. Like I said, we've been working on the outside. I gotta get back to Ben. I'll see you in an hour." Dean hung up the phone.

Tired, confused at his brother's neglect of the upholstery, and frustrated about the hunt, Sam sat back and purposely hit his head against the headboard. He had searched everywhere and gone through every possible solution he could think of, and there seemed to be no way to reliably tell what kind of spirit was bound to Jillian. Sam shook his head in wonder. It was completely implausible that there was no way to tell a benevolent spirit from a demon.

With a sudden realization, Sam sat forward. They had been told how to determine what was bound to Jillian. The solution had been dropped because both brothers had wanted to be sure of the answer and prayers were not known for yielding absolute answers, but at this point praying seemed to be the only solution they had. So, Sam reverted to what Pastor Jim had taught him when he was a child. He closed his eyes, folded his hands, cleared his throat, and said, "God…please let us know if Jillian Maida is bound to a demon or a benevolent spirit." As an after thought he added, "Uh, thank you." His research for the night complete, he picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

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The next morning, after two showers and a redressing of Sam's back, the brothers sat on their respective beds eating the breakfasts that Dean had picked up. Sam watched his brother wince while rolling his shoulder, "What's wrong with you shoulder?"

Dean looked up, "The damn rollaway…it's like sleeping on a bunch of metal bars. I don't know why they bother putting a mattress down."

Sam grimaced guiltily and Dean rolled his eyes, "Hey. There's no puke green paisley. I'm not complaining."

After the breakfasts were done, Dean threw a thermometer at Sam's head. Sam humored his brother and once again his temperature was normal. Dean made his way to the door, "I'll be back tonight with dinner. Do not leave this room."

Sam raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face. Dean looked serious, "Do you hear me Sam? Don't let me walk back into an empty room. I'll kick your ass."

Sam saluted sarcastically, "Yes sir."

Dean squinted his eyes, "I should kick your ass as it is for not doing your job last night."

Sam turned serious, "What?"

Dean pointed his finger at him, "You heard me. You were supposed to come up with a way to tell what kind of spirit we were dealing with. When I came in here last night, you were watching TV…and you still haven't come up with anything."

Sam didn't want to tell Dean about the prayer. He knew that his brother would want something concrete for them to do. Relying on prayer for an answer was not something that Dean would approve of, so Sam didn't mention it. "Well, I've got the whole day today to come up with something. It's not like I can do anything else, since I've been grounded."

Dean smirked, "Damn straight." Then he closed the door.

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Dean and Ben had been working on the hood repairs for the past two hours. The way the car had been hit, the hood and been pushed backwards through the windshield, shattering it. Currently, both Dean and the mechanic were working on freeing the hood from the car. Dean worked on the driver's side, Ben the passenger's side. Suddenly Ben laid out a low whistle and Dean looked up.

Ben was holding up a 10 inch, steel bowie knife, which had been bent in half. "I ain't gonna ask why ya got this in your car."

Dean cringed, he had apparently forgotten the knife when he removed the gun from the glove compartment. Ben continued, "Ya should frame this here knife. Saved your brother from gittin' his head chopped off."

Dean looked confused. Ben pointed to the dent in the knife, "I was wonderin' why the hood ain't gone through the front seats. Usually with these here old cars, the hoods don't bend at all. So when they's hit, they just go straight back. Usually takes a person's head off." He held up the knife again, "In this case though, the hood done went straight back and got wedged in this here knife. Stopped it from goin' further."

Dean stared at the knife. There had been too many close calls in this town. Ben spoke up, "This'll be goin' in my book."

Dean shook his head, "What book?"

The mechanic smiled, "Oh I keep myself a book a' miracles. This knife right here…it's goin' in my book."

Dean took the opportunity to get some information, "Do you see a lot of miracles in this town?"

Ben shrugged, "Not sa much anymore. Used ta be about fifteen years ago, there was a miracle every day. You should a seen this town then. Dang near everyone went to church. And I'm talkin' 'bout real miracles." Ben and Dean finally pulled out the hood and laid it down to bang out the dents.

The mechanic continued his story, shouting over the banging. "We done had a drought back then. This here whole area just gone completely dry. Every other town lost all their cattle, crops, everything. But our town…not one steer died, not until the night when the two steers were cut anyways." He looked up at Dean. "Every day there'd be no rain and by night we'd be lookin' in the wells and they'd be almost completely dry. We'd wake up the next day- they'd be full to the brim. At first people didn't want to waste the water on the animals or the crops, but after it kept a' happenin', the town began waterin' the crops and the animals with it. They'd use up all the water durin' the day. Next mornin', the well'd be full agin."

Dean was curious, "Did anyone ever figure out how it was happening?"

Ben shook his head, "Most folks here knew it fer what it was…a miracle. They're some folks that think that little girl done it. People'd say they seen her walkin' round the wells at night, and then after she been there's when the well'd fill up. Then, the miracles stopped happenin' when she died, so people said it must a' been her. I ain't never believed that though. Miracles come from God, and that girl…she wa'nt from God."

The dents banged out, Ben and Dean placed the hood back on the car. Dean continued the conversation, "What makes you say that?"

The mechanic looked around nervously, "I shouldn't speak ill a' the dead. That girl walks this town still, but then you seen 'er." He pointed to the car, "She done caused this. You should a' seen what that girl done when she was alive." The mechanic looked around again and then leaned in to whisper to Dean, "You know the Maida's…they was good people. They had eight kids in the beginnin'. All the baby girls after Jillian, they all died. Nobody ever talked 'bout it, but the whole dang town knew Jillian done it."

Dean stared at the mechanic, "How?"

Looking around a third time, Ben answered, "Each time, Jillian'd be seen walkin' somewhere wit 'er baby sister. Next thing you know the baby'd be dead. Every time the same way too, caught up in the electrical fence. People put'em up to keep their cattle in, but that kind of current can kill a two year old."

Dean sat back. When Jillian had attacked Sam, she had sparks flowing out of her face and hands. There had been many instanced, when the ghost of a serial killer would gain the power to kill in death the way they had killed in life. That was the reason Ellicott had been able to 'treat' Sam, because he did the same thing to others during his life. In this case, Jillian had been electrocuting her sisters, so she had that power as a ghost. Dean shuddered.

The mechanic interrupted his thoughts, "If ya ask me, I think she killed, Haley, her older sister too. I think the parents found Haley dead but didn't want to say nothin' 'cause the town already thought that Jillian killed the other girls. So they made up a story 'bout Haley leavin' town with a rodeo clown."

"Why didn't the sheriff ever do anything about Jillian?"

Ben looked sad, "He tried. He tried to bring her to justice in the law, but there weren't no solid proof. Jillian kept sayin' that her sisters just walked into the wire an' got tangled when she tried to get 'em out." He looked at Dean, "No judge wants to convict a seven year old fer killin' her sister. Even when the same thing done happen three times. The whole dang town was helpless. The law couldn't help, and everybody was afraid a' her. The whole town did the only thing they could think of; we all jest prayed fer a miracle."

Dean was silent and the mechanic shook his head, "When the miracles started happenin'…you'd be surprised how fast people forgot what that little girl done. Folks 'round here was sayin' that she was from God. That they felt happy an' peaceful when they was 'round 'er and that she was why all the miracles were happenin'. Even the Sheriff, who had ta cut down her sisters hisself, he even cried when the girl died. I guess folks thought she'd changed, that a miracle had happened to her too. Now folks remember her as a sweet little girl. I guess there were times when she could be, she could be real sweet to ya face, but I remember 'er. I remember what that gal was really like…before the miracles."

Dean and the mechanic reattached the hood to the car as Dean thought about what Ben had said. It was clear now, that Jillian had been truly evil and that she also had been possessed by a benevolent spirit. Sam would be off the hook for finding out how to tell demon from spirit. More importantly, they would be able to just burn the bones without having to complete any rituals first. Things really were turning around.

The hood now attached, the mechanic turned to the windshield, "I cut a new windshield for ya, but it's different glass. I used the shatterproof glass so if ya ever git into another accident, it won't shatter inta sharp pieces. Unless yer wantin' me to keep the car in it's original condition."

Dean shook his head, "No, man. No shards would be good." He never wanted to relive the experience of watching a piece of windshield be pulled out of his brother again.

As they installed the windshield, Dean's curiosity got the better of him, "So, were there ever any theories as to who killed her?"

Ben gave a slight smile and shrugged, "I never heard nothin' fer sher. Only that she got hit by a car." He looked at Dean, "I always thought it were her daddy."

Dean looked surprised. Ben smiled more, "He wa'nt the same after Haley and I heard that Maisy, Jillian's momma was pregnant agin. Was gonna be another girl. If I were 'im, and that girl killed four a' my daughters and I had another one comin'…well…"

Dean nodded, he could understand. "The sheriff doesn't seem like the type of guy to overlook that sort of thing."

Ben shrugged again, "He ain't, but maybe he never figered it out. Maybe her daddy brought the car somewhere after he hit her ta wash off the blood and work out any dents." He gave Dean a meaningful look.

Dean understood, Ben had helped Jillian's father cover up the evidence. Ben continued sadly, "Maybe Jillian's daddy felt like he were responsible fer her. Ya know? He was the one that gave 'er life…it was up ta him to take it away before she done hurt anybody else. Maybe he thought she might be turnin' around, doin' some good and if she died then…maybe she could be forgiven fer what she done." He looked at Dean again, "He didn't trust 'er even in 'er death. The other girls were buried on their land, Jillian wa'nt. I think he din't want 'er ghost finishin' what she started."

Dean nodded. He had to admit, he held a certain respect for what Mr. Maida had done. Dean and the mechanic finished the rest of the work in silence. The exterior of the car being finished (except for the bumper and the grill), Ben turned to Dean about the interior. "Were you wantin' to replace the leather on the seats? They don't look too bad right now, just a few cuts. We could patch 'em or replace the whole thing."

Dean considered the options. The truth was that he would need to look at the upholstery before he could answer. He had been avoiding that task in order to avoid the memories that the passenger seat might bring up. But, in the best interest of his car, it had to be done. So, with a sigh he looked in on the upholstery.

All in all, the mechanic had been right, it didn't look too bad. Most likely because most of the glass had hit Sam first. There was some blood on the seats, but Dean figured it could be touched up. He turned to Ben, "Let's keep the leather."

The mechanic agreed. They spent the next few hours fixing the seats and by 5 pm, the car was finished. Dean and the mechanic stood looking at the almost perfect car proudly. Walking to the front, Dean looked at the area where the grill would be. He turned to Ben, "You have anything I could put here temporarily, to keep the crap out?"

The mechanic looked confused, "You plannin' on drivin' 'er before the rest of the parts git here?"

Now it was Dean's turn to be confused, "What? You said you couldn't get a grill for another 2 weeks, and a bumper even longer than that. I told you not to order them."

The mechanic shook his head, "Yer brother got 'em. They're aught ta be comin' in the day after tomorra."

Dean remained confused, "My brother?"

Ben nodded, "Yep. Called here to tell me, he got the parts shipped out from California yesterday." The mechanic studied Dean's perplexed face, "Uh oh. It was 'posed ta be a surprise wa'nt it?" He cringed, "Tell yer brother that I didn't know it were supposed ta be a surprise."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and then looked up, "They're original parts?"

The mechanic nodded. Dean was silent for a moment and then grew animated, "How the hell did he find them? I've been calling around everywhere. No one's got them in!"

Ben shrugged, "I don't rightly know. I reckon you'll have ta ask him that."

Dean thanked the mechanic and then left to pick up dinner. While waiting in the diner, Dean contemplated the fact that Sam had ordered a grill and bumper for the Impala as a surprise. He smiled. Sam had been trying hard lately to make Dean happy. He had no idea why, but it hadn't gone unnoticed. Dean remembered his reactions to Sam's other well-intentioned actions. So far, he hadn't reacted well to any of them, including the new motel room. Mostly, because he had been dealing with bigger concerns at the time. The truth was though, the new ambiance really had lifted his mood. He'd be in a desperate state right now if he had to go back to a room covered in puke green paisley. Dean nodded his head determined, if Sam was trying to make him happy, then he'd have to remember to thank him and be happy.

He walked into the motel room to find Sam asleep on the bed. Fearing that his brother's fever had come back, Dean put down the food and once again placed the thermometer in his brother's ear. Feeling the intrusion Sam woke up.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to turn his head to get the tickling out of his ear, but Dean held his head still. That brought him fully awake and Sam groaned realizing that Dean was once again taking his temperature. "You know, I think this is becoming an unhealthy obsession for you."

Dean ignored him and checked the digital read out. It was normal. He gave Sam his food and antibiotic, "Did you take any Tylenol today?"

Sam shook his head, "I wasn't able to find a way to tell a demon from a benevolent spirit either. Sorry man, looks like I fail as head of research."

Dean gave a confident grin, "That's ok man. Once again, this just proves how much more superior I am compared to you."

Sam shot Dean a disbelieving look as he ate, "And how do you figure that?"

Dean's smug grin grew bigger, "Because I found out the answer. It's a benevolent spirit."

Sam shook his head, clearly he had missed something, "Care to fill me in, Dean?"

Dean explained to Sam everything Ben had told him. In the end Sam looked stunned. "And he just shared all this with you?"

Dean shrugged, "When you work on a car with someone…it's a bonding experience." Sam considered how they were literally given the answer. Cautiously he raised his eyes up. Skeptical, but not wanting to ignore it if it was divine intervention, Sam nodded his thanks.

Unaware, Dean continued his thought, "Not that you would know, since you always preferred to go to play rehearsals and the debate club."

Sam looked indignant, "It was mock trial."

Dean smirked, "Whatever dude. Either way, you were a girl." Sam went to defend himself, but Dean cut him off, "although the new haircut really does help with that."

Sam threw his pillow across the room at Dean's head. Dean caught it easily and laughed. "See, what'd I say? Trying to start a pillow fight? Come on Sammy, it doesn't get much more girly then that."

Sam let out a frustrated groan, flopped back onto his bed, and threw an arm over his eyes. Thirty seconds later a pillow hit him in the face. He was going to kill Dean…

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_As always review and let me know what you think!_


	11. Chapter 11: The Dot

_Only one more chapter left! Thank you all so much for the many reviews you have left. Your opinions mean a lot to me and I really appreciate your taking the time to let me know if you're enjoying the story. So thanks! Just some beforehand info. on this chapter…once the action starts, the point of view is going to switch back and forth between Sam and Dean very quickly so beware. Also, please understand that it was just way too tempting for me to not engage in a certain episodic fetish. I'm trying to keep the characters close to TV version and well, the fetish had to happen. For those of you who don't have a clue as to what I'm referring to, you'll see it when you read. It's something that occurs WAY too often in the series (although that's not to say that I don't enjoy watching when it happens)._

_ Black Roses: Sam had to get better eventually- sorry...but you should like this chpater and the next one.  
_

**_I have rewritten this chapter after Carikube gave me some very useful pointers. Thanks millions to Carikube!  
_**

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**Chapter 11: The Dot**

It wasn't until seven o'clock the next evening that Dean felt the excitement begin to course through his veins. Sam's temperature had been normal for over two days now, and the damage to his back had been healing well. The only thing that still held them back was Dean's poor eyesight, but so long as burning the bones didn't require reading anything, Dean figured that he would be okay. Dean began to bounce on his toes as he went through their belongings, gathering together everything that they would need. He was getting everything together a little early, they wouldn't be going out until 1 am, but the anticipation of the hunt was getting to him; he needed to do something. He thought back to the last time they had tried to burn the girl's bones. That had been a disaster. Looking back, he realized that Sam had been right, they hadn't been anywhere near ready for it. Sam had still been sick, his own mind had been focused on the previous accident rather than the hunt, and they knew almost nothing about the ghost. They had underestimated her. It was only by luck, and possibly a benevolent spirit, that they had survived. Dean pulled out the lighter fluid, it needed to be squeezed out, which meant it was less likely to spill than a gas can. Staring at the lighter fluid he smiled, this time they were ready, fully determined and well prepared. This time, the evil bitch was going to fry.

Sam sat on the bed watching his brother bounce up and down in excitement. Dean was absorbed in gathering together everything they needed. Every now and then Sam would see Dean smile to himself. He knew his brother was excited to be finally going after the ghost. Sam found himself smiling as he watched Dean. This was the Dean he was used to, the Dean that was poised to run all out, just waiting for the gun to go off. He thought back to their last attempt at burning the bones, when he had woke up to find Dean sitting in bed and watching TV. He shook his head; he should have tried harder to stop Dean that night. It was a miracle that they had survived.

As he continued to watch his brother and remember the events of their last trip to the cemetery, Sam began to feel nervous. While they were considerably better off than the last time, they still weren't 100. Sam couldn't accurately gauge from his brother just how far off his eyesight was, but Sam knew that Dean's eyesight had been compromised enough. Anything more than perfect vision, was enough. That, coupled with the fact that Sam had barely walked twenty feet total in the last three days, meant that both of them wouldn't be at their best tonight. While it was true that there seemed to be a benevolent spirit working with them, that fact didn't offer Sam much comfort. It still stood that this particular ghost had won the battle the last time around, and while, yes Sam's and Dean's mistakes contributed to their loss, the ghost was still powerful enough to make Sam feel anxious.

Biting his fingernails in anxiety, Sam looked up at Dean again. Dean, still smiling, was loading the shotgun with rock salt. Sam was confused, "Dean?"

Pausing in his actions, Dean looked up. Sam continued, "What's with the gun?"

Dean shrugged, "I figured we should have it just in case something happens and the benevolent spirit gets separated from the girl." He resumed loading the gun, but then paused and looked up again, "besides, I don't like going into a hunt without a weapon."

Sam smirked, "Wow…never thought you'd be one to have a security blanket."

Dean looked up again and seeing Sam smirking, shot back a dirty look.

Dean resumed his preparations and Sam resumed his nervous thoughts. He was beginning to consider suggesting that they put the graveyard dig off until tomorrow night. At least then, they would be able to leave directly after it was over. As it stood now, the Impala was still in Ben's garage, and the bumper and grill weren't due in until tomorrow. Sam moved to make the suggestion, but then stopped once again seeing Dean's excitement. It had always amazed him how much Dean loved to hunt- and how much he, himself, didn't. Sam had always only wanted safety. Dean seemed to be on a constant lookout for adventure. Finally Sam's nerves got the better of him and he sighed, "You're not even a little nervous about this?"

Dean looked as though he were absurd, "What are you kidding me? I've been waiting to waste this bitch since we first stopped in this town." Sam didn't respond as Dean stared at him. A hint of concern appeared on Dean's face, "Sam, you nervous?"

Sam sighed and then nodded, "Yeah…a little bit."

Dean sat on the end of Sam's bed where he had been standing. Sam continued, "I mean, last time we went up against…"

Dean held up his hand and cut his brother off, "Whoa, whoa. Last time was different. We weren't ready then. We're ready now." Dean stood up and resumed his preparations as he continued, "Look at how much more we know about the little bitch. I mean hell, last time we didn't know what she'd done, who'd killed her…and we sure as hell didn't know about the benevolent spirit. Now we know all that, plus you're not sick anymore and my head's in the game." Dean looked up and smiled, "We're good."

Sam looked unconvinced, "Dean, you're eyesight's compromised, I haven't left this room…or used most of my muscles in two days, and if that sheriff comes back again…we're screwed."

Dean remembered Sam's concerns regarding the hunt the last time. In hindsight, Sam had been correct, and so Dean was hesitant to brush his brother off a second time, despite the fact that he really, really wanted to kick that ghost's ass tonight. Dean sighed, "Sam, I wouldn't go into this if I thought my eyes were going to screw things up. It's just mostly reading and small details that are blurry. Plus, if that doctor was right…" Dean made a face as he remembered the doctor, "they're not going to get better for another three weeks. We can't wait here that long Sam. I'll loose it."

Sam looked resigned and nodded. Dean still stared at him, "Do you feel…are you not up to this?"

Sam looked up, somewhat surprised to see that Dean looked serious. He had honestly expected Dean to just blow him off and insist that the hunt be tonight, but Dean seemed to be listening. Sam considered the question. Dean was right, he wasn't sick anymore. Sam realized that most of his anxiety stemmed from the fact that they had lost the battle the last time…and he had almost lost Dean the last time. But this wasn't about the last time. Dean was asking him about now and the truth was, that he was ready…just nervous.

Sam looked at his brother and sat back against the headboard, "No. I'm ready. Just…just go over how we're doing this?"

Relieved that Sam honestly seemed to be in agreement that the hunt finish tonight, Dean sat and reviewed the plan with his brother. It wasn't complicated, dig, salt, lighter fluid, burn, and then cover the bones back up hopefully making the grave look no worse off than it currently did. Sam listened to the plan. It sounded easy enough, but he didn't have to be psychic to know it that it wouldn't go off that way.

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At 1:15 am the brothers found themselves once again standing on Jillian's grave. The grave had been loosely filled with dirt, which meant that digging out the grave would be easier this time around. Once again, Dean felt a surge of adrenaline flow through his veins. Filled with the excitement and anticipation of ending Jillian Maida's reign of evil, he eagerly began digging.

Sam felt the adrenaline too, although for a different reason than his brother. With every dig of the shovel, Sam found himself filling with more and more fear. As much as he tried to push them out, the memories of last time were vivid, interfering with his concentration. He remembered digging out the grave six days ago and how exhausted he felt while he was digging. His fears increased when he acknowledged that this time around, digging out the grave was just as exhausting. Last time, he had probably had a fever, this time, he was just out of practice, having slept the past three days. He just hoped that once again luck would be on their side.

Finally, the boys heard the thump that indicated the coffin. Dean was briefly concerned that the sheriff had sealed the coffin shut, but when Dean lifted the lid with ease, it was clear that he hadn't.

The brothers stood above the grave and looked down at the ghost that was once again sleeping in her coffin. Sam nodded at Dean to pour the salt. Dean threw the salt canister at his brother and picked up the shotgun, ready to shoot. Sam shot his brother a confused look. Dean whispered his explanation, "This time, we don't let our guard down."

Sam nodded, agreeing with Dean's thinking. Carefully, and full of trepidation, he poured the salt. Once again nothing happened. Both brothers gave a huge sigh of relief. Then Dean passed the shotgun to Sam and took out the lighter fluid.

Sam felt himself shaking and wondered briefly if Dean could see it as well. Hell, the entire shotgun was shaking, but he had no control over it. This was the part where everything had gone wrong the last time and to make things worse was the fact that this time, Sam knew that they were helpless. The powerful weapon that he was holding in his hands, the weapon that had been enough to disintegrate many ghosts and at one point take his brother down, wouldn't even cause _this_ ghost to turn in his direction. Sam's breathing sped up and his heart beat so loud that he could hear it in his ears. Tremors ran threw him, giving him the feeling of being cold, although it was relatively warm out. He hated this feeling. He had to fight himself as his logical brain screamed at him that he didn't have to put himself through this. That the girl hadn't hurt anyone in fifteen years, and he and Dean could leave safely tomorrow and nobody would be worse off. But the logical brain wouldn't win…because that's not what he had been taught. The lesson was driven home to him as a child- if there is evil walking the earth and you know about it, you have an obligation to do something about it. It was a lesson that went along with the saying, 'evil prevails when good men do nothing'. So, it was, that Sam found himself trembling, afraid of the sleeping ghost of a twelve-year-old girl.

Dean nodded to his brother, unaware of his fear, and Sam nodded back. Dean began squirting the lighter fluid and almost immediately, Jillian sprang to life.

She flew out of the grave, once again grazing Dean. But Dean had learned, he was prepared this time. The second Jillian's ghost moved, the lighter fluid stopped flowing, so when Jillian flew past him, he remained lighter fluid free.

Sam watched Jillian fly up into the air and then begin to come back down towards Dean. Whether born out of fear or excitement, adrenaline, was still adrenaline, and Sam had plenty. He called to Dean, "Finish it. I got her." And then ran in the ghost's direction.

Seeming startled at Sam's charge, Jillian came to a dead stop ten feet above the ground. She looked at Dean and then back at Sam. Whether she remembered them from that day on the road, or whether she had hatched a new evil plan, Sam wasn't sure, but the smile…the evil grin that he had seen the other day was back on her face. Almost immediately the sparks began shooting out from her hands and face. She seemed to have forgotten Dean, who out of the corner of Sam's eye had resumed dousing the bones, and charged at Sam. Not wanting to shoot off the useless gun and needlessly alert the local sheriff, Sam did the only thing he could; he dropped the gun and ran.

He ran for about twenty feet before he slowed enough to look over his shoulder. He had to make sure the ghost was following him and not going after Dean. He had to do it, but it was a huge mistake. Jillian had been nearly on top of him, so when Sam slowed. She caught him.

Her sparking hands wrapped around his throat and he fell backwards, clipping the back of his head on a grave stone. He felt the vibrations from the hit through the front of his nose and squeezed his eyes closed repeatedly to break open his vision that seemed to be shrouded in black. Just as Sam's vision began to clear, Jillian upped the wattage flowing through her hands…

Dean had poured the lighter fluid, dousing the bones well; he was taking no chances with this one. He concentrated on his job, trusting Sam to keep the ghost distracted. He hadn't heard any gunshots, or screaming, and the ghost hadn't attacked him, so he assumed that Sam was carrying out his part of the job fairly well. It was only when the lighter fluid had run out and Dean had turned to gauge where the ghost was that he realized that that wasn't the case.

It was hard to see from where he was standing and with his blurry vision what exactly was going on. But there were certain things that he could make out. The first was that Sam was down. He was lying with his body flat on the ground and his head tilted up against a gravestone. The second thing he could make out was that Jillian was in full sparking mode and her hands were electrified and touching Sam. The third thing he could tell was that Sam wasn't moving. Dean's vision was too blurry to see if Sam's eyes were open or if his chest was moving, but he figured he didn't need to. He had enough facts. Jillian's current was running through Sam and he wasn't moving. That was enough to tell Dean what he needed to know- Sam had been electrocuted.

Feeling the devastating loss explode through him, Dean stood for a second and stared at his brother's body. Tears came to his eyes and anger caused pain to run through his bones. The guilt of not protecting Sam flickered through anger, but Dean pushed it aside. There would be the rest of his life for that. Right now he needed to avenge his brother. He looked at the ground and saw the shotgun where Sam dropped it.

Picking up the shotgun, Dean shot into the air. The ghost turned toward him and away from Sam. Now having her attention, Dean called over to her, "Hey bitch! Say hi to Satan 'cause you're about to burn in Hell!" Almost immediately, Jillian disappeared. Not waiting any longer, Dean dropped the lighter and the grave went up in flames.

It was almost instantaneous. As the grave lit, Jillian appeared hovering in the air about 10 feet from her grave. Her soul seemed to catch on fire just as the remains of her physical body had. She stared at Dean, once again letting him see her pure, uncontaminated, evil soul. But it was over for Dean. He had won, but he couldn't feel the victory- and he certainly wasn't impressed by her evil. She didn't need to show him what she was capable of. He knew what she was capable of…she had killed his brother. He readied the shotgun and walked in front of the grave towards the fiery ghost.

Dean stared down the ghost with tears glistening in his eyes. His damaged vision had tunneled onto the little girl and she was the only thing that he could see. He held the gun with remarkably steady hands. An eerie calm had settled over him. He hadn't had time to fully process everything, but he knew that his life as he had known it was over. His brother, his family, his best friend, his only friend, and his mission in life were gone; all taken out in one shot. So when the flaming ghost charged, Dean briefly considered letting her take him…but Sam wouldn't have wanted that. So with Sam on his mind, and no feeling in his heart, he fired.

Without surprise, the shot did nothing. The rocksalt went through the ghost without even slowing her down. Dean continued to stare her down. He felt the heat of the ghost as she slammed into him. The force with which he was propelled backwards was so strong, that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to stop his fall into her grave. He began to reflect, as he fell that the heat of the flames didn't hurt as much as he would have thought. He tried to explain the lack of pain to himself by supposing that when a person's whole body is burning, they don't feel it as much because all of the nerves are overloaded. It was odd really, he felt warm, but there didn't seem to be any pain. He watched the flames catch on his skin and was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratefulness. Grateful that Sammy had died first and wouldn't have to watch his brother burn to death.

…But things never worked out that way for the Winchesters. Twenty feet away from the grave Sam stood, having watched the entire thing. The ghost's current hadn't been enough to kill him- only burn him. So when the ghost disappeared to stare down Dean, Sam picked himself up in time to watch as the ghost rammed into Dean. Upon impact, Jillian had been destroyed, but like Dean, Sam couldn't feel the victory. His brother had fallen and as an acceptance of their sacrifice, the flames had shot up higher.

Finally processing what he had seen, Sam ran forward toward the grave. He knew that it was too late to save Dean, but he had to try. What seemed like an eternity later, Sam reached the grave and looked down. All he could see were the flames. He searched desperately for his brother, hoping that he'd see a hand and he could reach in to pull Dean out. But there was nothing, just the acrid smell of barbeque. Realizing the significance of that smell, Sam walked backwards away from the grave in horrified denial.

When he was about ten feet away from the grave, Sam stood, the tears flowing down his face. His worst fear had played out in front of him, he was watching his brother burn to death. Without even realizing it, Sam found himself whispering, "please" over and over again. He was barely aware that he was even saying it and he certainly hadn't directed it at anyone or anything. He was just begging. Begging for a miracle…because he couldn't be left alone. Left alone in a town in the middle of nowhere. Left alone with no family or friends. Left alone with the memories of a brother who he had grown up with. A brother who had loved him, teased him, taught him, joked with him, and always looked out for him. The memory of Dean's grinning face appeared in front of the flames. Sam was now opening crying, but his mantra hadn't stopped. Only now it was spoken with a broken voice, "please, please, please…"

Sam stared at the flames, unable to move. The flames had died back down to the point where only a small amount could be seen above the edge of the grave. Dean was gone; taken from Sam's life the same way as his mother and girlfriend. Sam wiped at the tears on his face, but more came to replace the ones that had been wiped away. He could no longer breathe out of his running nose and his head pounded in time with his pulse. Still staring at the grave, Sam's eyes focused in on a white dot standing above the flames. It was barely noticeable and from Sam's point of view, looked to be the size of a grain of sand. It was only the bright white color and the fact that it didn't move that brought Sam's attention to it. Sam stared at it, likening the scene to watching a TV with one pixel broken in the center of the screen.

Sam thoughts were drawn to the dot. It was completely out of place…and something completely out of place, meant that things weren't the way they seemed. That one dot, the size of a grain of sand, filled Sam with hope. The dot seemed to acknowledge the change in Sam's mood and rewarded him. With an incredible speed, the dot flew upwards and out to Sam. Before Sam's brain could process what his eyes had seen, Dean was handed to him. Sam stood and accepted the gift the dot had given him. The dot had almost instantaneously gone from the grave to placing Dean gently in Sam's arms. Dean's back was to him, and unable to see any skin, Sam wondered how badly his brother had been burned.

Before he could think much more, Dean whirled around, ripping himself out of Sam's hold. Both brothers stood a foot apart from each other with mirrored looks of fear, despair, and hope on their faces. Time froze around them as their brains tried to readjust from the sickening, lonely lives they had lived for one long minute and back to the lives they had always known. They continued to stare, neither wanting to trust the hope that his brother was alive for fear that the hope was false. Neither brother wanted to go through losing the other again. But as time ticked by and nothing changed, their hope grew and their brains readjusted. They were both alive.

Their movements were matched exactly. Just as Sam moved forward…Dean moved forward and grabbed Sam, squeezing his eyes shut, filled with a thankfulness he could have never imagined. The gratefulness he was feeling ran freely through his thoughts and to no one and nothing in particular, he found himself thinking, 'thank you, thank you, thank you' over and over again. He felt Sam's fists balling up the shirt on his back and felt Sam shaking, a sign that he was crying. He held his brother for at least a full minute…at least as long as he had lived knowing that his brother was dead. They both were alive and neither would be left to spend a lifetime alone. The feeling of gratefulness was at an intensity that neither brother had ever experienced before. Finally, Dean gave Sam a tight squeeze and then pushed him back.

Dean held Sam at arms length and looked him over, as though checking to make sure that he wasn't an illusion. Sam did the same back to Dean. Accepting that they both were alive, Dean let go. Sam was still shaking.

Sam wanted to speak, but found that he couldn't. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that just as he had thought that Dean was dead, Dean had thought he was dead as well. There was too much emotion between them to speak.

And then suddenly Sam remembered the dot. Frantically he looked around for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Dean noticed Sam's sudden movements and grabbed Sam's arm, turning him to face his brother, "Sam," Dean swallowed, it hurt to say his brother's name; he had thought he'd never say it again, "What's wrong?"

Sam tried to explain, "The dot." Then he shook his head; Dean wouldn't understand 'the dot'. He tried again, "It brought you…I think…" He shook his head again. He couldn't speak yet, there was just too much emotion.

Dean slowly moved in front of him gently grabbing both of Sam's arms. He stared Sam in the eyes and willed him to calm. Sam picked up on his brother's slowed breathing and took a deep breath himself. He tried to explain again, "When you fell…" The tears came back, but Sam ignored them and took another breath, "I thought you had died...burned to death."

Dean shook him, "Hey! What'd I tell you about that?" Dean realized how close he came to breaking his promise. It was really just semantics and, well, and a benevolent spirit that allowed Dean to keep his promise of not burning to death in front of his brother.

Sam smiled. He knew Dean had had nothing to do with his own survival, but he was grateful that Dean had remembered the promise and accidentally kept it. Sam shook his head and continued his thought, "There was a dot, a white dot. It came out of the fire. I think it was the benevolent spirit. Dean, it was this big." He demonstrated it's miniscule size to his brother before continuing, "I was staring at it and in two seconds, it had flown from the grave to me and the next thing I knew…you weren't dead and you were here." He began looking around again. "I need to thank it."

Dean had no memory of the spirit. He could only remember being thankful that Sammy wouldn't watch him burn, which had sort of happened anyway, and then feeling Sam up against his back. Despite not knowing what the spirit looked like, Dean helped his brother look. He wanted to thank the spirit as well.

After two minutes, the brothers realized that they weren't going to find the spirit. Whether it had gone, or whether it was merely too small to see, either way, they couldn't find it. Sam, still filled with thankfulness, decided that if he couldn't thank the spirit, he'd go above it. He looked up at the sky and said, "Thank you." Then he began to walk towards the grave, with the ghost now destroyed, they had to refill the grave and avoid being arrested.

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_Only one chapter left! Let me know how you're likin' (or dislikin') the finale!_


	12. Chapter 12: Cleaning Up

_I have reposted Chapter 11 after some revisions. As Windyfontaine and Friendly are aware- I have never been truly happy with the way that chapter came out. I had rewritten it many times, but it never seemed to be right. Anyway, Carikube gave me some excellent pointers on "point of view" and so I took her advice, reworked a part of the graveyard scene and now I am finally happy with chapter 11. So loads of thanks go out to Carikube for the help!_

_As you all know, this is the end... Thank you all yet again for your wonderful reviews. You really did bring heaps of joy to my over stressed days._

_Black Roses: Thanks for your consistent support- you should be happy to know that the angst in this story will continue beyond what I've written. _

_Brokenwind: I'm glad you liked the story (especially considering how picky you are) :-) Thanks for the review!_

_Michelle Kelly: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you enjoyed the story!_

_LRP: I agree that the boys should be paid for their services! However, then people would have to acknowledge that ghosts and demons exist and I'm not sure if the world is ready for that. Although they did in Ghostbusters!  
_

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**Chapter 12: Cleaning up**

Dean followed his brother back over to the grave. There were a lot of unanswered questions, not the least of which was, 'how was it that Sam was still alive?' But those questions needed to be saved for later. Right now, they needed to refill the grave- and do it quickly. Dean watched as Sam picked up a shovel and then had to catch himself from falling over. Sam might not be dead, but something was still wrong. "What's wrong with you?"

Sam squinted up at his brother while feeling around his head to find the place where his head had kissed the tombstone, "I hit my head when I fell. I'm not too steady."

Dean moved to help his brother up. Once Sam was standing Dean went to look at the back of his head, but Sam shook him off, "We don't have time for that right now. People will have heard the gunshots. We need to refill the grave and get the hell out of here."

Dean nodded and picked up his shovel. As long as Sam was conscious, he was right, they needed to clean things up before the sheriff got there. Dean worked quickly at refilling the grave. Sam helped as well, but at a much slower pace, often stopping with his hands on his knees. Dean wanted nothing more than to assess the bump that was undoubtedly growing on his brother's head, but there was no time, and quite honestly, he wouldn't be able to assess anything with his vision in the darkness. Within twenty minutes, the grave was refilled and the two brothers began to make their way back to the motel. They hadn't been walking for one minute when they came face to face with the sheriff.

The boys stopped abruptly and Sheriff Crell rubbed his head under his hat sighing, "I thought we'd gone through this boys." He looked at the brothers, who didn't respond. Then he spoke again, "You want to explain to me why I got a call _again_ at four in the mornin' sayin' there were gunshots comin' from the cemetery?"

Dean went to speak but Sam beat him to it, "We're leaving tomorrow night and Dean got it in his head that this would be the last night he could get his revenge on the ghost." Dean looked at Sam offended. Why was his brother handing him over to the sheriff? Sam ignored Dean's look and continued, "He had just started digging when I got there."

That was enough. Dean didn't know where Sam was taking this, but it couldn't be good. He warned him, "Sam."

But Sam ignored the warning, holding his hand up and effectively silencing Dean. Dean looked insulted by the hand. Sam continued speaking to the sheriff, "I shot into the air. Dean ignored me. But then I shot at the ground near him, and I think he got that I was serious."

The sheriff seemed to be listening, although he still looked skeptical and Dean was beginning to get annoyed, why was he the insane bad guy while Sam got to be the rational do-gooder? Sam moved closer to the sheriff, "He didn't do any more harm to the grave and we tried to clean up whatever he did…I think he was going to let it go, but then he spoke with the mechanic yesterday and Ben told him what he thought Jillian had done to her sisters and that brought back the whole thing for him, and well, you know…"

Dean scowled, but kept quiet. The sheriff seemed to be considering Sam's story, but still had a suspicious look on his face. Then he nodded to Sam's neck, "What happened to your neck there, son?"

Not having noticed Sam's neck before, Dean whipped his head around to look at his brother. Unfortunately, once again, his vision was too blurry to make anything out. Sam wasn't standing more than two feet from him, but in the darkness (they were running on moonlight) the only thing he could notice was that Sam's neck looked a bit darker than usual.

Sam had almost forgotten about the burns on his neck, having been overrun with his headache and the aftermath of the hunt. Frantically he tried to think of an excuse for the burns, but the only thing that was even remotely plausible was that Dean had tried to choke him. Although even that…choking would leave bruises, not burns. Besides, that explanation would get his brother thrown in jail on assault charges. Not able to think of anything, Sam said nothing, hoping that the sheriff would come up with something on his own and maybe Sam would be able to work off of it.

Noting the lack of response, the sheriff moved forward, took hold of Sam's chin, and tilted his head to the side to get a better look at the marks on his neck. As he looked at them he asked, "You're brother do that to you?"

Sam and Dean simultaneously responded, "No!" Then Dean took over the explanation, hoping he could explain away the marks without ever having seen them. "It's a skin condition. He gets red blotches on his neck when he gets upset or nervous. Tonight was a bit stressful for him." He gave Sam an annoyed look, "What with him having to shoot at me and all…"

The sheriff seemed to accept the explanation, most likely because there were only red blotches and bumps on Sam's neck, and not any bruises. The sheriff stepped back from Sam and addressed Dean, "I was nice about this the first time. I took a chance, against my deputy's judgment by the way, and let ya'll go with the understandin' that you wouldn't be visitin' that girl's grave again."

Sam interrupted, "Sheriff, I stopped him before he could do anything. Honest." Sam tried not to cringe while saying that word. Clearly, he was being anything but honest. "Nothing was damaged. Please sir, we'll be gone tomorrow." Sam looked over at Dean, noticing Dean's annoyed stare. Evidently, Dean hadn't approved of Sam's cover story and Sam had a feeling that he'd be hearing about that later.

The sheriff once again seemed to consider Sam's words. "See…I have a real hard time believin' ya'll givin' that this is the second time we're havin' this conversation." Then Sheriff Crell took a moment to think a bit more. Then he nodded, "I'm gonna go take a look at that grave, then I'm gonna talk to Ben." The sheriff pointed a finger at Sam, "If I find any damage or if Ben doesn't back you up, You boys are gonna have to do your explainin' to a judge. And don't think you can flee town either. I can get a message out to every office in this state within ten minutes. I'm a well respected man; I guarantee you that if I send out an APB, the other offices will take it very seriously."

Dean stepped forward and spoke to the sheriff, "Sheriff, I have no doubt that you're a well respected man. And despite," he shot Sam a look, "what I've done. I do respect you…and the people of this town." He shook his head and sighed looking the sheriff in the eyes, "I'm not going to flee or resist or do anything, if you decide to press charges. I just…I guess I just felt that someone needed to pay. But Sam was right and he stopped me." Dean sighed again, "If you need to arrest me…I'll go willingly." Dean held out his hands to be handcuffed.

The sheriff rolled his eyes, "Put your hands down boy. I ain't gonna arrest you. I just need to make sure that your brother there was tellin' me the truth and no more harm's come to that little girl's grave."

Sam tried to remember the exact state in which they had left the grave. It was hard to think with his head throbbing, but he needed to know…if the sheriff saw the grave sight, would he see evidence of the fire? If he did, he considered that it might be better for Dean and himself to be there and try to explain it away…before the man pressed charges. Pushing his head injury aside, Sam spoke to the sheriff, "Sheriff, we'll walk back over there with you right now, so that you can see nothing happened." Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean's eyes widen in shock at Sam's suggestion. Dean was definitely going to have something to say to him later.

The sheriff nodded at Sam's suggestion, but then held out a hand palm up, "You can hand over the shotgun though." Sam smiled and did as told.

The brothers made their way back to the grave with the sheriff. They stood off to the side, Sam nervous and Dean seething, as the sheriff inspected the grave. Finally, the sheriff approached the brothers, "Alright. It doesn't look too bad. You said you boys were leavin' tomorrow?"

The brothers nodded and the sheriff nodded back, "You make sure that you do. I don't need to be worrying about what you boys are gonna do next."

Sam sighed in relief as the sheriff walked away. Dean called out to him, "Sheriff." The sheriff turned back around and Dean spoke to him seriously, "I meant it when I said that I had respect for you and the people of this town."

The sheriff nodded, "I know you did son. I can read eyes real well." Then he looked at Sam, "I know when I'm being lied to." Then he turned around and walked away.

Sam took a breath, ashamed at how dishonest he had been, although he knew he hadn't truly had a choice. The truth just wasn't an option, and the lie, well, other than pissing off Dean, the lie had worked; they weren't in jail.

After the sheriff was out of earshot, Dean turned on his brother, "What the hell dude? I have to be the crazy loon that goes grave digging in the middle of the night while you _save_ me from doing something stupid? What the hell was that Sam?"

Sam said nothing; wincing seemed to be his only response to his brother's anger. Dean shook his head and stalked off back towards the motel with Sam following after him.

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Ten minutes later, the brothers entered their motel room. Dean was still angered, in part by his brother's 'story', but more as a response to the sheer amount of emotion he had gone through this night. This entire hunt seemed to have burned itself into Dean's memory. He began reviewing tonight's events in his head as he changed his clothes. Looking back on it, he was almost amazed at how fast everything had happened. One minute he was pouring the lighter fluid, the next minute Sam was dead, the next minute he was dead, and then the next minute they were both alive again. Well, except that apparently, other than the lighter fluid, none of that had really happened. Dean realized that in truth, he had no idea what actually had happened. He understood a little bit about how he survived burning alive because of what Sam had told him. However, he hadn't actually seen the benevolent spirit for himself, and felt a little disappointed about that. In addition, he had absolutely no idea as to how it came about that Sam wasn't dead.

Hoping his brother could shed some light on that topic as well, Dean turned around to question Sam. Upon seeing his brother in the light, the questions flew out of his mind and he gasped. Sam looked up at him and Dean walked towards him, "Sam, your neck."

Sam nodded as best he could, "Yeah, she tried to electrocute me through my neck."

Dean flinched, "Yeah I saw."

Surprised that Dean had seen it, Sam continued, "The current must not have been strong enough, or maybe the spirit held some of it back. I don't know. Either way though, she just ended up burning me."

Dean's memory of Sam lying still on the ground with Jillian on top of him replayed in front of his eyes. Angry at having to live through his brother's death needlessly, Dean turned to Sam, "Why the hell didn't you do anything Sam? You didn't even fight her!"

Sam stepped back, not expecting his brother's anger. Dean took another step towards him, "I watched it Sam, I thought she had electrocuted you. You weren't moving."

Sam stood still in understanding. So that was what had happened. That was where Dean thought that he had died. Finally Sam understood his brother's anger. He understood it well, having lived through the same despair himself this past night. He spoke to his brother, "I was stunned. My head hit the gravestone and…" he looked at Dean's eyes, "there was nothing I could do Dean. I couldn't push her off, my hands would have gone right through her."

Dean seemed to accept the explanation as all the anger visibly left him. Dean sat on Sam's bed with his head down. Sam resumed speaking, "I'm sorry you thought I was dead, Dean."

Dean continued to look down, saying nothing. Sam's voice dropped to a soft whisper as he spoke seriously, "I lived through that too tonight."

Dean looked up and locked eyes with his brother. Sam was right. They had both been through hell tonight…it was time to move past it. They were both alive and that was what really mattered. Dean stood up and gently tilted Sam's head to the side to look at his neck. He cursed his damaged vision as he was unable to determine how bad the burns actually were. He shook his head, "Sam I can see the burns, but I can't see how bad."

Sam answered the unspoken question, "To be honest, I'm more concerned about my head. The back of my head's killing me and I'm still getting waves of dizziness."

Dean cursed again. He needed to check his brother's pupils but was unsure if he would be able to see if they were dilated. He ushered Sam into the bathroom where there was better light and force his brother to sit on the edge of the toilet. Pulling out a flashlight, Dean checked his brother's eyes and relaxed in relief that not only could he see the pupils, but also, they weren't dilated.

Dean's gaze dropped back to Sam's neck and he grimaced. In the brighter light of the bathroom, he could see Sam's neck better. The burns looked bad. There were red handprints on both sides of his neck and in some areas, the skin was blistering. "Sam, these burns are pretty bad, man. You're sprouting blisters."

Sam looked surprised, "Really?" He reached up to feel the blisters but Dean swatted his hand away, "Don't touch 'em."

Dean went to get the first aide kit. Sam spoke up as he walked back into the room, "They don't feel that bad. In fact, they hardly hurt at all…unless I turn my head."

Dean began treating Sam's neck with ointment and taping a bandage over the wounds. "Yeah, well, I have a feeling they're going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow. To be honest Sammy, they look bad enough that we should go to the hospital."

Sam shook his head, "We can't Dean, it'll bring up too many questions. How would we explain them?"

Sam was right, they would bring up questions and the sheriff's attention, but there were priorities to think about, "That's not my main concern, man. You're just getting over an infection and these burns are gonna be breeding ground for it to come back."

Sam argued, "I'm still on the antibiotic." Dean looked unconvinced and Sam tried again, "Look, Dean, we're leaving tomorrow. If it gets worse, or my fever comes back, we'll stop at a hospital in another town…far away from here."

Dean deliberated with himself before nodding in agreement. Then he left the room again. Sam walked over and laid down face first on the bed. Two minutes later Dean re-entered the room carrying a bucket filled with ice. As he had done earlier in the week, he wrapped the ice in a towel, except this time he placed the towel gently on the back of Sam's head. As he placed the towel down, Dean noticed that there was no blood, but a bump the size of a golf ball could be seen from about two feet away…and that was with _his_ eyes. Sam winced but held the towel in place.

Suddenly, and with urgency, Sam spoke out, "Dean are you hurt?"

Dean looked back at the bed confused, "No dude. Why would you think that?"

Sam looked at him incredulously, "You fell into a burning grave."

Dean raised his eyebrows as he considered Sam's point. He _had_ fallen into a burning grave…and he could remember watching the flames spread on his arms, but he didn't seem to notice any pain. Dean looked down to check himself over. Other than his hair and skin smelling a bit smoky, there seemed to be no evidence that he had been anywhere _near_ a fire, much less in one. He turned back to Sam, who was still looking at him concerned, and shrugged, "Sorry man, looks like you're the only one with the burns," then he grinned, "I look good."

Sam rolled his eyes and laid his head back on the bed, "That's fine by me. I'd prefer it if only one of us had burns."

Dean didn't respond, instead he laid down on his rollaway. The night had taken it out of him. He shook his head and looked at Sam who was turned away from him, still holding the ice pack on the back of his head. Things had come very close to ending horribly different tonight. They had been extremely lucky, and Dean was extremely grateful. It was clear that someone or something had had their back tonight. Dean turned his head up to the ceiling staring at it in gratefulness. Finally, he took a breath and whispered, "Thank you."

Smiling at himself he looked back over at his brother, "Sam?" Sam grunted in response. "You okay to sleep? Should I wake you up?"

Sam mumbled something indiscernible in reply, which Dean took as a 'yes, you should wake me up'. That was fine, so long as there was a brother there to wake.

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Every two hours…every two hours, without any help from an alarm clock, Dean woke himself up and then woke Sam. And every time Sam woke without a problem. After the fourth time, Dean decided that since it was now 1pm, he might as well go to the mechanic's to check on the car.

He left a note for Sam, who had fallen back asleep, and arranged with the motel owners for him and Sam to check out by 8 pm and not have to pay for the day. As he walked to the garage, Dean found himself staring at his arms. He couldn't get over it. He had been inside a grave while it was on fire. The flames had been all around him, he watched them spread on his skin, he had known that he was going to die there, and now here he was the next day and not even a hair had been singed. He shook his head, the whole thing was just amazing.

Upon entering Ben's garage, Dean broke into a huge smile. The Impala was facing him, a shiny new bumper attached to it's front. Currently, Ben was seated in front of the car reattaching the grill. He turned, noticing Dean, and dropped his tools. Then he stood up and approached Dean with a scowl on his face. "Sheriff paid me a little visit this mornin'."

Dean cringed, this couldn't be good, silently he cursed his brother for dragging Ben into the mess with sheriff. Ben regarded Dean's silence, "Ain't you got nothin' ta say Dean? That man always thought I was involved in that girl's death; now ya up an' reminded him 'bout the whole dang thing. You should've seen 'im in here this mornin' interrogatin' me about what I done told you. Why the hell'd you drag me inta this?"

Dean shook his head in apology and held his hands up in defense, "I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to get you involved. If you want me to do something…say something to the sheriff…" Dean briefly thought of informing Ben that it was his brother that caused the mess for the mechanic, but unlike Sam, Dean seemed to have a mental block against offering his brother up as a blame- even when he had done it.

The mechanic squinted at Dean and shook his head in response to Dean's offer, "No thanks. Ya done enough. I jest don't understand why ya had ta rat me out."

Dean defended himself, "All we told the sheriff was that you had told me that Jillian may have killed her sisters. That's it dude. Nothing else."

Now the mechanic looked confused, "Ya didn't say nothin' 'bout the car or the way Jillian died?"

Dean shook his head in confusion and the mechanic stepped back, a thoughtful look on his face, "Why that sly little…" He looked up at Dean, "Sheriff done told me that you said a lot more…He was tryin' to get me to let somethin' slip." Ben shook his head and smiled, "That there was the only case in his entire career that he never arrested nobody fer. I think he always known who done it though, he just never could prove nothing'." Ben walked back to the car still speaking, "Man's got the persistence of a termite. Jest keeps gnawin' at ya' till yer whole dang house collapses."

Dean laughed and tried to change the subject, "The car looks great Ben."

Ben turned back to Dean, clearly still annoyed although now the annoyance seemed to be more directed at the sheriff than Dean, "Bumper and grill got in about nine this mornin'." He tapped the hood of the Impala, "She was real happy ta see 'em too. She perked right up when I unpacked 'em from the box."

Dean smiled and walked over to his car, "Well I'm real happy to see her." Then Dean spoke to the car, "You're almost finished honey and then you can come on home and I promise, I won't let Sam spill any more blood on your beautiful body."

Ben chuckled to himself as he heard Dean's speech to the car, then he interrupted it, "If yer done with yer pep talk, we still got a grill to put in."

Within an hour, the grill was attached and the car was ready. Dean shook hands with the mechanic, paying him in cash for his hard work. Normally, he'd pay by credit card for that sort of thing, but given the fraudulent state of the cards, it would be uncertain if the mechanic would get paid, and Dean wanted him to be paid for all his work on the car.

The car now finished, Dean got behind the wheel and reveled in the feeling of the steering wheel, gas pedal, and brake. He had gone for eight days without that feeling, which had been _way_ too long. God, he had missed his car.

Dean drove out of the auto shop and down the three blocks to the motel. As he drove, the short distance, he realized that there was a problem. His vision was good enough for driving during the day in a small town or probably on a deserted highway, but even in those instances, it would have to be bright and sunny. If it were cloudy or if he needed to read a street or road sign, there was no way he could drive. And if it were night…

Dean parked the car in front of his motel room and sighed. Even if it weren't night, he'd really need a second set of eyes to back him up on the road. Dean thought briefly about letting Sam drive, but with the head injury and the likely limited neck movement, Sam would be an even worse candidate for driver.

Dean sat back in the driver's seat and played with his lips as he thought. They were going to need to- scratch that- _Sam_ was going to need to plot a course to a nearby town, city…something. And they weren't going to be able to double up on the driving. It had to be a one shot drive with both brothers awake and alert…and it needed to happen now. The longer they waited, the less daylight they would have to drive in. So much for leaving at 8pm.

Dean entered the motel room and was relieved to see Sam showered, changed, and eating. Upon seeing Dean, he pointed to a box of doughnuts. "I just picked them up."

Dean ignored the doughnuts and started pulling the weapons out from under the bed. "Eat them in the car dude, we gotta leave now."

Sam sucked the icing off of his fingers and gave his brother a confused look, "Why? What's going on?"

Dean spoke as he wrapped the weapons in towels for a more inconspicuous transport, "We need to get to another motel by nightfall."

Sam didn't catch on, "Why? What happens at nightfall?"

Dean turned and looked at him, "My vision goes from not so great to practically blind."

Sam shook his head, still not understanding the rush, "So I'll drive."

Dean paused, raised his eyebrows, and then nodded. Then he picked up a nearby bottle of holy water and threw it past Sam's head. As Dean had expected, Sam tracked the holy water with his head as it whizzed past him. His head barely made it fifteen degrees towards his shoulder before he grabbed the side of his neck and gasped in pain.

Dean rolled his eyes and retrieved the holy water, "Any other suggestions genius?"

Sam didn't respond, still breathing hard from the pain. Dean put down the holy water and moved over to probe the bump on his brother's head. He heard Sam gasp as he touched the sore spot, but the bump itself had clearly receded. "Your head looks better."

Sam pushed his brother's hand away from his head, "Yeah. It only hurts when you touch it."

Dean noticed that Sam still had one hand on his bandaged neck. He assumed that Sam had rebandaged the neck himself after his shower. "How bad's your neck?"

Sam shrugged, getting up to continue where Dean had left off gathering the weapons. "You were right, man. It hurts like a bitch."

"And your back?"

Sam stopped his actions and looked up smiling, "You'll be happy to know that _that_ at least is healed."

Dean rolled his eyes, "It's about damn time something was."

The brothers worked together putting all of the weapons back in the car. When they had finished, Sam stood back and admired the refurbished Impala. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Dean watching him. Sam pointed at the car, "She looks good."

Dean grinned and patted the hood, "Your damn right she does. Best looking girl in this town."

Sam laughed. Dean caught his brother's eyes, "She looks even better with the original bumper and grill."

Sam gave an embarrassed smile. And Dean nodded over at him, "Seriously man, where'd you get the parts? I've been calling everywhere."

Sam shrugged, "I just called a friend from college. His dad owns a classic car shop. I told him my big brother had had a hard week and I wanted to do something nice for him. You know, to pay him back for taking care of me."

Clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable with Sam's gratefulness, Dean grumbled something and hopped into the driver's seat. Sam laughed at his brother's embarrassment and took his place in the driver's seat.

Dean started the car and put it reverse. However, before he backed the car up, he paused staring at the steering wheel. "Thanks Sam." It was short, and needed no reply. Sam smiled. Finally…one of his well-intentioned plans had gone right.

A short time later, the boys found themselves back on the road. As they left, Sam thought about the town. It was a weird feeling. Like Dean, he really wanted to just get the hell out of there, but in a way, so much had happened in that town…both of them had gone through so much there, that leaving the town presented him with an odd feeling. He had grown in that town and more importantly, his relationship with his brother had grown in that town. It was almost as though that town had somehow bridged a gap between the relationship he had had with Dean as a child to the relationship they had as adults. He would always be Dean's little brother and Dean would always take care of Sam when it was needed, but it was no longer one sided…and Dean was no longer unbreakable. Finally their relationship worked two ways and Sam felt truly, for the first time in his life, that he really was an equal member of a team. No longer a tag-along or a sidekick or a backup, finally he was a partner.

As Sam contemplated the growth in their relationship, Dean drove, contemplating the hunt. This had genuinely been one of the most difficult hunts that he had been on in a long time. Leaving that town and knowing that they had been successful was an incredible feeling. It was a good fight. It wasn't just another hunt where they had destroyed some bones, ended a ghost, and moved on. There was literally blood, sweat, and tears in this hunt and they had FOUGHT for the win…and they got it. Dean felt the smile grow on his face, this had to be the best feeling in the world. It didn't even matter that the town had never really been in danger from the ghost, that if they hadn't destroyed her, the benevolent spirit would have kept her under control. It didn't matter. It was bigger than that. Even if they hadn't really saved any lives, still they freed a good spirit. A spirit that was now free to move on to it's next mission and bring more miracles into this world.

Dean realized with a start that Sam had been right all along. They had been on that road, _this road_, for a reason. They had been given a mission. Not to save Jillian's soul, as Sam had originally thought, but to free the spirit. The thought blew Dean's mind; they had been given an assignment. His eyes widened as he realized the implications of that thought…holy crap they had been given an assignment. Someone had seen what they had been doing and decided to give them a job.

It was no longer 'Sam and Dean versus whatever'. It was 'good versus evil' and they had just played on the team, not as leaders or followers, but as respected team members…and with other players…other _supernatural_ players. It was going from playing one-on-one your entire life to playing on the team. It was incredible, all the things they had done in their lives…they had been recruited and given numbers. They were officially playing for team 'good'.

Ignorant of each other's contemplations, but incredibly happy with their own, the two brothers drove their way down Rt. 20 of central Wyoming. The radio remained silent, but it didn't matter; they didn't need it. This was one of the most exciting roads they had ever encountered.

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_Review and let me know what you think of the finale! _

_And once again, thank you all so much for all your encouragement and support throughout this entire process. You have all made my first time at ffnet, an enjoyable one. Thank you so much._


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